Tuesday's Child
by RavensGame
Summary: John Winchester knelt before his four-year old son, heart pounding. "Dean, where's your brother? Where's Sammy?" He asked desperately, grasping the scorched blue baby blanket in his hand as his house burned down behind him. "Who's Sammy?" The tearful child replied in confusion. Gabriel watched, invisible to them, the sleeping infant safe in his arms...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Okay. I should not, in any way, shape or form be posting the first chapter of this story. I should be shot for starting this while I have so many open projects.**

**But...**

**I really, really wanted to start this.**

**So, here is the deal. My other open projects all have completed outlines and update schedules, and they get first dibs on my resources and time. This story will be long and really good ( I hope. Come on, Winchesters plus Trickster equals Hells Yes!) It will update slowly at first. This project was planned to take the place of Prisoner of War when POW wrapped up. However, at the request of several readers, I have reworked that story's outline in order to extend it. I love that people want my stories to be longer, and I will always oblige if there is any way to do so, but I was a little sad that it meant putting off the debut of Tuesday's Child, because I have really been looking forward to it.**

**So I thought I would go ahead and get this out. It will update slowly, maybe twice or three times a month, I'm guessing, until I wrap up Prisoner of War, then Tuesday's Child will take POW's place in my update schedule/rotation. For now, this is definitely a story you should slap an alert on if you like it, because while I am stoked about it, I am committed to finishing my other, older AU's, and they come first. I owe that to my readers. **

**On the plus side, the slow updates mean I will have tons of time to take readers preferences into account for this story. I'm pretty sure this chapter will get you up to speed with the basic premise, and if you read any of my other work, you know my MO is to rework canon cases and put new twists on them. I think a hunter Dean, Trickster Angel, and Bad Ass, raised by said Trickster Angel Sam could be all kinds of fun, and I love prompts and ideas from readers. So if you have an idea for an episode remix featuring these three in some combination, leave it in a review. Since the outline isn't complete for this story yet, I have lots of leeway to try and honor reader requests.**

**Now, for the less fun part. I do not participate in the Wincest/Destiel war. I write brother fics. I read smut, but I do not write it. My stories are not romances, are not meant to be romances. **

**Also, I obviously have to uphold to the basic Sam and Dean versus Heaven/Hell/Lucifer theme, as that's integral to the premise of this project.**

**Oh, and while I'm not against some John bashing, I not expecting that to be too integral to this story, and I will never, ever brother bash. My stories are safe places for fans of either brother (though, I admit, I'm a Sam girl.)**

**Other than that, let me know your ideas. I always do my best to respond. If you want a better example of my writing style, please check out my other stories. I write canon, angst, fluff AND and am currently writing a Dark-side Sam fic, which I am told is a little unusual.**

**I apologize for the world's longest Author's Note, but bear with me, since the situation is a little unusual for me.**

**As Always, **

**EverReader**

**Disclaimer: Not my sandbox. Mine is shaped like a turtle.**

**Tuesday's Child**

"**Lost Boy"**

Gabe walked into the empty warehouse, coming to stand before his corpse, framed by the outline of wings, scorched straight into the concrete.

Well, maybe not his _corpse_, corpse.

He hadn't been entirely sure the copy would be good enough to fool his older brother.

A part of him had hoped he'd never need to find out.

But millennia spent locked in the cage had changed the brother Gabe remembered, just as Lucifer and Michael's fight had changed their family, and even Heaven itself.

He'd pulled out of the politics thousands of years ago, after their father had disappeared.

He'd known what his siblings were up to, their plotting and planning, their back-handed ways of helping the demons free his older brother, simply to fulfill a bedtime story their father had told them to lessen the sting of Lucifer's descent.

He'd vowed never to take part in this battle, to never choose sides, to harm his siblings on either side.

To let the cards fall where they would.

And yet...

He'd been to one sent to Joseph, when Mary was pregnant with Jesus.

He'd watched over that child, the only one of his kind to ever be born.

He'd watched him struggle and strive.

He'd watched him be sacrificed to try and save this world that Michael and Lucifer seemed determined to destroy, simply to prove which one was right, when it the end, their battle would simply prove who was left.

And now it was happening all over again, with Sam Winchester as the star of the Apocalypse Games.

Sam's choices would either save the world, or break it, but Gabe wondered if there really was a choice.

For all Sam and Dean's arguments to the contrary, Sam had the deck stacked against him pretty high.

It was obvious Gabe couldn't take on Lucifer directly.

Was he willing to take more drastic measures?

Lucifer was unfortunately powerful in his second choice vessel, how much more powerful would he be if Sam said yes to him?

Anna had tried destroying Sam, but she had made the mistake of going too far back.

Time travel was tricky, even for an angel. Some events were so pivotal they became fixed. Sam Winchester had to be born, as did his brother Dean.

These things could not be changed.

Furthermore, Gabe was fairly certain he could not change the fact that no matter what actions he took, Sam Winchester was destined to be infected with Demon Blood.

He was born to be the one to make the decision that would save the world.

Or he'd be the one to end it.

But everything in between was just small change, on a universal level, at least.

Destiny didn't give a crap what happened to him between the time he was infected and the time he had to decide whether to say yes to Lucifer.

That was why all the other demons and angels were able to interfere with the Winchesters lives as much as they already had.

It wasn't much, but the wriggle room was there.

Only an inch, but really, did Gabe need any more than that?

He was the trickster, after all.

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural **

Dean looked over at Sam worriedly. He'd been silent since they'd dropped Kali off (and wasn't that too bizarre to even think about), since they'd stopped and played Gabriel's message.

"Talk to me, Sam. Tell me what's going on in that freakishly large head of yours." He ordered gruffly.

"How the hell can we win?" Sam said, the words dropping like small bombs in the silence of the cab.

"No. No. You can't think like that, Sam. You and me, we are in this together, and we will figure it out. You saw the video. All we have to do is get the rings-"

Sam interrupted him then, "You mean steal the rings, from the two remaining horseman, one of whom is death, so I'm not sure how that works, then use them to create a key, and then ask Satan to kindly return to hell. Yeah, I saw the video too, Dean."

"We can't think like that, Sam. We gotta keep our heads in the game. We have a plan, and we will find a way to make it work, Sam. You and me. Just like it always should have been-" Dean turned to gauge Sam's expression.

What he saw instead had him slamming on the brakes, the Impala's tires screeching as the car fishtailed to a halt.

"Sam! Sam! SAMMY!" He cried, looking around frantically.

Sam was gone.

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural**

Gabe slouched at his desk, idly watching the security cameras. The gig at the animal testing facility had been fun at first, but now he was getting bored.

It was time to move on, find a new project.

"About that..." A familiar voice said, and Gabe looked up in surprise as he watched himself walk into the room.

"Damn, I look good." He said, smiling. "But I'm pretty sure massive time-travel isn't a part of our witness protection agenda. Care to clue yourself in?"

The other Gabe cocked his head at him. "I hope your ready for this..." He said, reaching out an laying a hand on his past-self's forehead.

Gabe squeezed his eyes shut under the onslaught of images, thoughts, memories and ideas. The memory melding spell was so powerful it threatened to shred his vessel's mind, but finally, the torrent slowed.

He breathed deeply, opening his eyes.

His future self had disappeared, which meant his plan had worked.

Or would work, anyway.

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural**

Azazel stood over the crib of Sam Winchester, grinning in dark triumph as his blood dripped into the infant's mouth.

He had a good feeling about this one, oh yes.

With the sweet older brother sleeping just down the hall, Sam Winchester was just...perfect.

The culmination of two of the strongest bloodlines in the human world, Dean's body would be the perfect host for Michael.

And now, thanks to Azazel's little deal with Mary coming to fruition, Sam was all set to grow up and say yes to Lucifer.

Of course, he'd need a little nudging in the proper direction.

The child had been silent this whole time, staring at Azazel with wide eyes.

No matter.

An infant's cries were easy enough to fake.

He flicked his fingers over at the baby monitor.

Soon enough, he heard the soft pad of feet come into the bedroom.

"John, is he hungry?"

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural**

Dean was frightened.

He'd heard Mommy scream, and then Daddy.

He could still hear Daddy screaming, and now Sammy was crying too.

Thick smoke was filling the hall from Sammy's room as Dean ran towards Sammy's room, and Dean knew what that meant too, he'd learned it from the fire fighters who'd come to visit his preschool.

Their house was one fire, and they needed to get out.

"Daddy!" He cried, as his father appeared in the doorway of Sammy's nursery.

"Dean! Take your brother and go outside, as fast as you can. Don't look back. GO, NOW!" John commanded, but Dean was scared.

He wanted Mommy.

John pushed Sammy into Dean's arms, and they wrapped around the bundle protectively.

Dean wasn't supposed to carry Sammy by himself, Mommy had said so, and now he understood why, as Sam's weight almost overbalanced him.

But Daddy had already disappeared again, and Sammy was still crying, and now Dean could feel the heat of the fire.

Dean ran.

He ran so fast the he and Sam nearly tumbled down the stairs. He had to set Sam down to use both hands to turn the lock on the front door. Picking his still crying brother up, he ran outside to the big tree, just like Mommy had said to if there was ever an emergency.

Mommy had told Dean to run to the tree, and she and Daddy would come to get him.

He looked down at his soot-stained brother. Sam's eyes were wide, his bottom lip quivering.

"It's okay, Sammy. I got you." He whispered.

A shadowed moved in front of him then, blocking the light from the fire.

Dean looked up, startled as the man came towards him.

"It's okay, Dean. I'm here to help." The man said reassuringly.

Dean hugged Sam tighter to his chest as the man reached out and touched two fingers to Dean's forehead.

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural**

John ran outside, heart pounding, not even noticing the tears running down his cheeks.

_Mary._

Mary was dead.

But not just dead, she had been _killed._

Something had killed his wife and hung her on the ceiling, and then his Sam's room had burst into flames.

_Sam._

_Dean._

Was that thing, whatever it was, outside with his children, right now?

He spied Dean under the tree, exactly where he should be, and his heart eased a little, only to resume it's frantic pounding when he spied Sammy's blanket, lying crumpled on the ground at Dean's feet.

"Dean! Where's your brother? Where's Sammy." He cried, coming to kneel before his son, large hands gripping tiny shoulders. Dean's wide, uncomprehending eyes met his.

"Where's Mommy?" Dean cried, tears slipping down his cheeks.

John shook him a little, looking around in a panic.

"Dammit, Dean, answer me! Where's your brother? Where's Sammy?"

Dean looked up at his father, confusion evident on his face.

"Who's Sammy?"


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Holy cow, guys, this is the first real chapter of Tuesday's Child. So, lets see, lots of notes. First of all, as far as formatting goes, if any of you follow my other two AU's, you'll notice I am using a similar story structure in regards to the prologue, but it's worked fairly well in ATPM, so why knock a good thing? So the italic portion of the earliest chapters will all be prologue, just FYI. Now, my Mom is still in ICU, which is messing up my updating schedule some, but the game plan for this story is for it to update every other Tuesday until Prisoner of War wraps up, then Tuesday's child will move into it's spot in the update schedule.**

**In this story, my inner Whovian will come out on occasion, especially in reference to the changed time lines. As I consider Doctor Who canon for anything time-travel related, I just thought you should know. The Doctor obviously doesn't make an appearance, but if you watch the show (and you totally should) you'll recognize some of the science and theory I am using.**

**Last but not least.**

**Yes, Sam has a nick name for a while in this story. In my experience, readers tend to dislike when characters don't use their own names, and I promise, about one third of the way through, Sam will be using his own name, but it really only made sense that Gabriel would not have hidden Sam and then used his real name most of the time. No matter which way I worked it, I just couldn't imagine him using it when both heaven and hell were searching for them. So please, bear with me.**

**Reviews are love, and feedback would be really helpful, as I am still fleshing this story out. **

**As Always, **

**EverReader**

**Disclaimer: Not my sandbox. Mine is shaped like a turtle.**

**Tuesday's Child – Chapter Two**

"**Familiar Stranger"**

_Gabriel studied the tiny child in front of him and sighed. When he'd come up with his plan originally, he'd had some very definite ideas as for the raising of Sam Winchester. Gabe would make sure Sam received an adequate education, so that Sam's natural intelligence would be fostered. He'd see that he received the best training possible (for a human) in regards to self defense, strategy, and hand to hand combat. He'd learn the old stories ( and not from some King's version of the so-called Bible)._

_He'd used his powers (And his little brother's idea from the alternate time line) to mark the infants ribcage with both anti-possession wards and angel wards. The child was effectively invisible._

_And when the time came, Sam Winchester would be ready to stop the apocalypse._

_Of course, of Gabriel's plans for Sam Winchester had started (in Gabe's head, anyway) when the child was old enough to be properly trained._

_The youngest years had always been a vague outline in Gabe's mind. He knew humans took several years to get on their feet, so to speak. _

_He was also aware that human infants were much more high maintenance than their animal counterparts. However, Gabe had observed (both in real life and on TV) enough children and their caregivers to feel confident that he could use his powers to recreate an adequate approximation to care for the child until he was old enough to be interesting._

_He looked down again at the insistent tugging on his pant's leg. _

"_Book." The boy's wide eyes looked up at Gabe pleadingly, tears already starting to tumble from long, dark lashes. The child had only been with Gabe for a few months, and already he was forcing Gabe to re-evaluate his plans._

_What he hadn't counted was that Sam Winchester was no ordinary child. _

_The product of two rather incredible bloodlines (for humans, anyway), Sam Winchester had been brilliant even before Azazel's interference. Add in a healthy dose of demon blood, and the fact that Sam had become what amounted to the fixed starting point in a whole new reality/time line, and Gabe could no longer be sure what aspect's of Sam's unusual personality were natural or simply the natural evolution of the child who would either save the world-or break it._

_At nine months, Sam could already say more than a dozen words. While he wasn't walking yet, Gabe was certain it would happen at any time. He seemed more aware than any infant had a right to be._

_And he saw right through Gabe's creations. _

_Most of the time, the fairly content child would allow Gabe's facsimiles to care for him, feed him and bath him and such the like._

_But when he was hurt or sick or tired or bored, he would have nothing to do with them._

_Instead, the stubborn little duck had latched onto him, imprinting on Gabe with a ferocious tenacity._

"_BOOK!" The child insisted again,and Gabe sighed, scooping him up in his arms._

"_Okay. One more time, kid." Gabe settled into a chair that materialized almost as soon as he thought of it._

"_Book." The child sighed happily._

"_Perhaps that's what I should call you." He said musingly, brushing the child's dark hair out of his eyes. He couldn't really go around calling him Sam. While a common enough name, Witpro worked because you didn't take stupid chances._

"_Book." The child repeated, shoving the board book up into Gabe's face._

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural**

"Book." The childhood nickname fell easily from the her lips as Anna sighed heavily into the other end of the phone line. "Are you sure you really want to do this? After everything Gabe did...I mean, once you set this in motion, you can't undo it.

"I have to, Anna. If I don't, he'll die." The tall young man replied from where he stood in the parking lot outside the rough-looking bar.

"You know I have your back, Book. Hell or high water. I'll keep my ears open, I'm betting the chatter get's hella loud after this." She sighed again, chewing her bottom lip. "Does Gabe know?"

"Yeah, Anna. That's what we fought over a few weeks back. He wants me to keep hiding, but the demons have upped their game. Innocent people are going to start dying because of me."

"Look, just be careful. I'll be around, and, you know, he'd come if you just call." Anna said resignedly.

"I'll be careful, Anna. I mean, as careful as we know how to be." The young man said wryly

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural**

The blonde stood, wiping down the counter as she studied the hunter from across the bar.

The man looked up, across the pool table, calculating green eyes locked on his opponent as he grinned a devil-may-care grin.

For all his good looks and talents, for all his charm and abilities, something about Dean Winchester was just...off.

It wasn't the first time she'd pondered the problem. They'd practically grown up in each others pockets after a demon had killed his mother and a black dog had killed her father. Their surviving parents had never gotten over the loss of their spouses, but neither had they been able to pull away from the hunter lifestyle.

Dean and Jo had been thrown together for several months out of every year as his father, John had alternated between using her mother's bar, the Roadhouse, as a home base of sorts, along with Singer Salvage, a salvage yard run by a hunter named Bobby Singer up in South Dakota. Bobby's place was a known safe house for hunters, and Dean had spent his childhood mainly at one place or the other.

So she'd literally known Dean since she'd been in diapers, could tell you what drink he'd order, call the shot's at the pool table before he'd even lined them up. She knew what kind of grades he got in school (when he bothered to go), where most of the scars on his body came from, even what kind of food he preferred.

But for all that, she often felt like he was nothing more than familiar stranger.

There was a distance in his eyes, a coolness, like he was looking at you and finding you lacking. He had a way of looking at your with his sarcastic charm smile, and you felt like he was seeing through you, like you were _lacking_, somehow.

He went through things quickly, hunts, booze, women. He was like a shark, always moving forward, always looking for whoever or whatever came next.

He wasn't a bad person, far from it, though he could be a first class asshole. He'd help anyone, had saved numerous lives in his career as a hunter. But sometimes she wondered if he even understood why he was doing it, like he was reading a script and acting a part.

It was as if, for all his bravado and loud personality, somewhere inside, Dean Winchester was...empty.

Like he was searching for something, like maybe he had been searching for something his entire life.

She glanced up as a customer she'd never seen before came in.

He was tall, she'd give him that. Young, too, though she'd seen younger. He had a boyish face, but they way he moved, like he was comfortable in his own skin, convinced her that he knew exactly what he was doing.

He sat down by himself at a table, slouching a little and pulling a worn paperback out of his back pocket.

She saw some of the older men eying him and hoped the other hunters wouldn't give him trouble. Sometimes the more seasoned hunters liked to heckle the younger ones, but she had a feeling this one wouldn't play ball. Something about him gave the impression that he was the mountain that ignored the monsoon, to quote her mother.

She walked over with her order pad, tugging a piece of blonde hair behind her ear as she walked.

"What can I getcha?" She asked, taking the opportunity to study the guy a little closer. She guessed he was just a few years older than her, with shaggy brown hair and eyes that were truly hazel, blue and brown and green and gray all at once. Unless she missed her guess, he was also packing a least three blades, but she couldn't discern where he was carrying his gun.

Weird, for a hunter.

He looked up and smiled, and Jo had a sudden flashback to the time she'd found a puppy in the ditch outside the bar as a child. She felt the need to run and ask Ellen if she could please keep him.

"Whiskey, neat. And a glass of water, please." The boy said politely.

"Sure. Anything to eat?" She said.

"No, thank you." The boy answered again with a politeness that should have made him seem younger, but somehow managed not to diminish hes presence at all.

"You got it." She said, snapping her order pad shut as the boy resumed reading. She was turning to walk back to the bar for his drink when she saw Harold, one of the older (and not very good, in her opinion) hunters approach.

"Jo, baby doll" Harold sniggered and she gritted her teeth. "You better card the kid before you serve him. Hate to see him spill good whiskey on his bedtime story."

"Take the drama back to your table, Harold." She said curtly.

The young man had chosen to studiously ignore Harold, not the tense, 'I'm ignoring you' kind of ignoring, more like 'I genuinely aren't even paying enough attention to you to realize I should bother to ignore you,' ignoring, and while it was impressive, Jo could tell it irritated Harold, and she sighed.

She was going to end up shooting his ass full of buckshot tonight, she just knew it.

"Hey!" Harold had come to stand in front of the young man, who had continued to read his book. "I'm talking to you!"

The young man sighed, folding down a corner to mark his page.

Closing his book, he looked up patiently. "No, you were talking about me, which actually didn't require my input at all. Now, you are talking to me, so I am replying. How may I assist you, sir?" He said the 'sir' in a way that had Jo biting her lip to keep from grinning even as she started backing nearer to the rack where they kept the shotgun.

"You can't talk to me like that!" Harold pulled himself up to his full height ( which wasn't all that impressive, but again, just Jo's personal opinion).

The young man sighed again. "Well, everyone is entitled to their own opinion." He offered diplomatically.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Harold slammed his beer on the table, and the young man pulled back to avoid the back splash.

He stood, and Jo watched as Harold pulled back upon realizing just how tall the kid was.

"Ma'am, I think I'll take my drink at the bar." He said, looking at Jo.

"Don't walk away from me." Harold blustered, hand reaching an arm out for the young man, and Jo braced herself, because no hunter, no matter how young or how laid back, would allow another man to man handle him in a bar and something told her that this kid was no exception.

Harold's hand never made it, however, as another hand intercepted.

"Problem here, Jo?" Dean said easily, eyes flicking back in forth from the tall kid to Harold and back to the tall kid. From the way he was looking at the kid, Jo wondered if maybe he'd met him before.

The kid was staring back with equal intensity, and perhaps that was why he didn't notice Harold swing for him with the arm Dean hadn't caught.

Dean did, though, and Jo was reminded once again of just how fast his reflexes were. Within seconds, he hand Harold on his knees, arm wrenched behind his back.

"Back. Down." Dean said the words slowly, enunciating carefully.

The young man watched everything with eagle sharp-eyes. Pulling a twenty out of his wallet, he handed it to Jo.

"I think I'll just move along." He said with a quiet smile, and was out the door before Dean had even finished immobilizing Harold.

Dean looked up then, directly at Jo.

"Where'd the kid go?" He asked, and she pulled back, startled a little by the intensity of Dean's question.

She waved the twenty at him. "Out the door. Guess he didn't feel like drinking amongst assholes."

Dean scowled, wrenching Harold's arm up once more for good measure as the man howled.

"Stop causing shit on Jo's shifts." He muttered in the man's ear while Harold's cronies watched from their table, leery enough of Dean's temper to stay out the way.

With a muttered curse, Dean let go of Harold's arm, stalking out the front doors. Curious, Jo followed him outside.

The parking lot was already empty, and Dean turned to look at her.

"What was he driving?" He asked, looking around again.

She shrugged. "How would I know? Why do you even care?" She said, confused. It wasn't like Dean to get involved, and even though he had warned Harold about causing her problems, they both knew she could more than handle herself.

He shrugged, looking slightly uncomfortable. "Asshole shouldn't have been giving him shit. He wasn't hurting anyone." He mumbled, and she shot him a measuring look.

Interesting.

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural**

Dean Winchester didn't do a lot of things.

He didn't do commitments. He didn't do roots. He didn't do long term relationships, or relationships of any sort other then the strictly carnal, strictly one-night sort.

He didn't particularly do friends. There was Bobby and Ellen, but they were more like an Uncle and an Aunt. And there was Jo, but she was more like a cousin. He cared about them, quite a bit in fact, but they weren't his friends.

Dean Winchester didn't have friends. In his line of work, he ended up lying to practically every person that he met, and the ones he told the truth to wished he hadn't.

Cassie had proven that.

No, Dean Winchester didn't do friends or relationships or holidays or home cooked meals. He didn't need it, either. He always had at least one foot out the door, and he liked it that way.

When he needed to ground himself, he'd head over to the Roadhouse. If Ellen couldn't kick his ass into shape, no one could. If he needed a respite, he'd head up to Singer Salvage. If he needed help on a hunt, he had dozens of hunters he could call on, just like they'd call him, the Winchesters had a reputation, after all.

Sometimes he even had a father, though John was distant even on his good days. Dean was used to John being gone for weeks, sometimes months. It wasn't that John didn't care, it was that John had that same driving need that Dean had to keep going, keep moving, keep hunting, only times about a thousand.

So Dean didn't sweat it.

Much.

But this time, John had gone dark over two months ago, with no calls to check in, and that was pushing it even for him. Dean had been down in New Orleans on his last hunt, and he'd decided to swing up through the Roadhouse, to check on Jo and Ellen and see if they'd heard from John either.

They hadn't, and though Dean was reluctant to admit it, he was starting to get worried.

Bobby and Pastor Jim hadn't heard from him either, though Bobby had said that the last he'd heard, John was in St. Paul, so Dean was toying with the idea of driving up that way to check on him as he lined up his next pool shot.

The Hunter he was playing was a fool if he thought Dean was drunk enough to lose this game, but a fool's money was as good as the next. At least at the Roadhouse, he didn't have to worry about getting jumped over a well played hustle, no one at the Roadhouse would hassle him, unlike the kid who'd come in a few minutes earlier and who was now making a valiant effort to ignore that idiot, Harold.

Personally, Dean would like nothing more than to see the moron Harold get eaten by a werewolf, but he didn't normally get involved in other hunters business. Anyone in the Roadhouse was likely to be a hunter, and anyone in the hunting business better be able to hold their own.

But something about this kid tugged at Dean's attention, though he wasn't sure why. The kid was tall, that was for sure. At six foot one, Dean could hardly be considered tiny, but this kid had an easy three inches one him. He was lanky, too, but Dean could tell he was in shape nonetheless.

He looked young, almost too young for the Roadhouse, but Dean knew better than anyone how deceiving appearances could be, besides, he'd met twelve year olds who could put a bullet in a werewolf's heart.

Hell, he'd been one.

Still.

Something about this kid. He had an open face and closed eyes, and Dean watched as Jo practically melted when he smiled at her awkwardly. He'd bet that smile got the kid laid more than any lines he could throw at a girl. Still, he didn't appear to be making a move on her, which was unusual in itself, as Jo was gorgeous.

Dean knew she had a crush on him, but he also knew better than to rock that boat.

He watched as the kid placed his order, and instinctively, his mind started cataloging the kid's features, trying to place his face, because Christ, the kid looked familiar and Dean couldn't figure out why for the life of him.

Dean shook his head again as his concentration faltered and he nearly missed his shot. When he looked up again, he could tell from the look on Jo's face that she was considering shooting someone, and his guess was Harold. The man was obviously drunk, nearly swaying as he did his best to antagonize the kid.

The kid remained unruffled, though Dean watched as he adjusted his stance minutely, and Dean's eyes narrowed as he realized that not only did this kid know how to fight, he was probably pretty damn good at it, too.

Jo was looking uncomfortable too, which meant she was feeling off her game, as she could usually handle a herd of wild buffalo.

Dean didn't even realize he'd walked over until he'd spoken out loud to Jo.

He tried to keep eyes on everyone, but again and again his eyes were drawn to the tall kid.

Dean had never seen eyes like that, every color and none, but his mind continued to insist that he did, indeed recognize the kid.

Maybe he was another hunter's son? Had he passed through the Roadhouse or Singer Salvage when he was younger, and that was why Dean though he remembered him? Children were unusual in the hunting community, but not unheard of, Dean and Jo were proof of that.

The kid watched Dean back just as intently, and Dean could've sworn that he was trying to place Dean's face also, the way he was studying him, feature by feature. Dean felt naked, like the kid had stripped away all the bullshit Dean wrapped himself up in and simply looked at him.

Dean hated it, and yet he couldn't look away from the kid either.

Dean's reaction was instinctive when Harold moved to jump the kid. Harold only even tried it because Ellen was out for the night, and not everyone there respected Jo the way they should.

By the time he had Harold on the floor crying for his mom, the kid was gone, as if he'd never been there at all. His feet moved out the door as Dean's eyes searched the lot. He looked over to Jo, but she was no help either, and Dean felt a curious sense of...something.

Disappointment, maybe? Unease, certainly, though he didn't know why. Try as he might, he couldn't place the kid, and neither could Jo, which was a good indicator that he didn't know him.

Reluctantly, he went back inside, but he couldn't settle back in. He couldn't keep his mind on his pool game, and in his opinion, there was no reason to play if you were going to play badly.

He considered hitting one of the bars closer to town and seeing if he could find some company for the night, but he felt to restless, like a caged wolf. Finally, as the last of the customer's trickled out, he called out to Jo.

"Jo, I'm heading out."

She stuck her head out the swing doors, frowning. "Thought you were staying the night, You find a hunt?"

He shook his head, frowning. "Nah. I think I'm gonna head north."

"St. Paul?" She guessed knowingly, and he shrugged.

If it turned out to be nothing, John would be furious, but Dean's gut told him to move, that he needed to be out, be gone, to drive...somewhere.

Anywhere.

It was time to move, and St. Paul was as good as anywhere else. John was probably fine, but Dean could think of no other reason why he felt so anxious unless it was worry for John, so he might as well bite the bullet and check on him.

He called out farewell's to Ash and shot Ellen a text that he was heading out. No one was particularly surprised, Dean never lingered long anyway.

Dean climbed into his baby, the gleaming black Impala shining in the light of the full moon. Dean usually tried to time the full moon with a werewolf hunt, since that was the only time he could catch one, but this month, no one had word on any, so he had headed to the Roadhouse.

Now, as he headed out onto the highway, he waited for his muscles to start relaxing, for the magic of the road to work it's way into the knots in his shoulders and stomach, the ones that grew over time, like clockwork, any time he stayed in one place for too long.

Tonight, though, even the road held no magic for him. Instead of relaxing, he became more and more tense with every mile. The kid from earlier kept flashing through his mind, his eyes and the way he'd looked the one time he'd smiled at Jo, and Dean wished like hell he knew why he felt like he should remember him.

Dean never even saw the eighteen wheeler, lights off as it seemingly drove out of no where, sending the Impala flying forward.

Dean had only a moment to be glad he'd worn his seat belt for once, before his head smacked into the driver's side window. The glass held up, but the impact sent pain slamming down Dean's head and neck.

The truck and the Impala came to a slow, screeching halt, and Dean blinked, trying to clear the blood out of his eyes.

He had a vague sense that this was bad, the truck hadn't just _seemed_ to come out of nowhere, it really had, intersecting the road where Dean's car was to from the shoulder of the road, meaning it must have been driving off-road at the time.

That meant it was intentional, but his brain was foggy, his limbs heavy and leaden. His fingers worked clumsily at his belt, and he managed to open it after only a few tries. The door was next, and that was harder, but the driver of the truck was getting out now, and every one of Dean's hunter instincts was screaming at him to fight of flee.

The door opened suddenly, and he tumbled out, barely catching himself to ease his fall. His leg was throbbing, but he reached for his piece and gripped it nonetheless.

The older man walked towards Dean with a completely blank expression, and the hairs on Dean's arms stood at attention, because Dean knew a possession when he saw one.

Dean hadn't worked a demon case in months, though, so the attack made little sense.

It also meant he was royally screwed, because he knee was wrenched badly, and he was fairly certain he had a concussion.

And Demons were mean ass motherfuckers on a good day.

"Been looking for you for a while, Winchester." The man said matter-of-factly.

"Good to see you to." Dean muttered, trying to push himself up against the car and failing as his knee screamed in pain again.

"Hey!" The voice came from behind the trucker, and both his and Dean's eyes flew over to where it had come from.

It was the kid from earlier.

He stood on the hill, the moonlight behind him casting his face in shadow, but Dean recognized him anyway. He held a sliver blade in each hand, and Dean was now certain his earlier guess was right.

This kid knew his way around a weapon.

"Why don't you give me a try?" He asked, strolling forward, lightly, walking on the balls of his feet, an impressive feet for a person of his size.

"Stay out of this, trickster." The demon snarled, and Dean blinked in confusion.

Trickster?

"Where's the fun in that?" The boy asked, and then he sprang, silver blades glinting in the moonlight.

Dean struggled against unconsciousness as his vision faded, black stars dancing across his vision, growing larger and larger as he slid further down. He didn't realize he was losing time until suddenly the kid was kneeling in front of him.

"You okay?" The kid asked as he started a cursory field examination of Dean's injuries, his hands moving knowledgeably along Dean's limbs, checking for breaks and wounds.

"Guess you won." Dean mumbled.

The kid grinned a one-sided smile. "I'd say it was a draw. When he realized I wasn't such an easy target, he smoked out of there pretty quick.

"Owe you, one." Dean mumbled, eyes falling closed again.

"Think of it as a thank you for earlier." The kid said gently. Remotely, from what felt like a million miles away, Dean felt his fingers being closed over something smooth.

"What's that?" He said, blinking.

"I'm gonna loan this to you." The kid said again, and Dean raised his hand to stare at the shiny silver blade he now held.

"What is it?" He asked, looking back at the kid.

The kid half-smiled again. "Let's just say Demons aren't such a big fan of knives like this. Keep a good eye on it, they're hard to replace. The ambulance is on it's way. I gotta go, you'll be okay."

"Wait, what's your name?" Dean asked, tired of simply calling him 'the kid."

The kid looked at him. "My sister calls me Book." He offered finally.

Dean frowned. "What kind of crappy name is that?" He asked blearily.

Book shrugged. "It's kinda a long story."

Dean's eyes fell closed again, for only a moment, but when he opened them again, Book was gone.

"It's a stupid name." He muttered into the night, shoving the knife under the seat of his car as the wail of the ambulance's sirens grew closer.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Yay! Chapter three, three days early! Go RAVENSGAME!**

**Okay. So, moving a little slow here but I'm still laying some ground work. What I love about this story the most is that I am finally writing a story where John Winchester isn't going to be a total ass hat. I don't try to write those kind of stories, they just seem to go that way. But I already know for a fact, that despite how distant he seems at first, he's going to be awesome. Super super fun.**

**So... Prisoner of War updated this afternoon, and All The Pretty Monsters updated a few hours later, so lots and lots for everyone to read and enjoy. Reviews are love, as I am still fleshing out these characters, so please just hit that little button and leave your thoughts. New stories are kinda ambiguous at first, and I want everyone to have fun with this one. Getting Dean and Sam established, then I can work in Anna, Jo, and of course, our favorite arch angel.**

**REVIEWS ARE LOVE!**

**As Always, **

**EverReader**

**Disclaimer: Not my sandbox. **

**Tuesday's Child – Chapter Three**

"**The Things We Lost In The Fire"**

_John felt like he was going insane._

_Sammy was gone. Not just vanished, not just taken._

_Gone._

_Gone, as if he had never been there in the first place, had never existed, never been born._

_John could still remember with stomach wrenching fear and pain the way the firefighters had looked at him after they had put out the fire in the house._

_He had been shell shocked, mind reeling, full of thoughts of **Mary-Sammy-Mary-Sammy** and for some reason, the part of his brain in charge of walking and talking speaking to other adults as if he had a clue as to what was going on had said, out of the blue "What shape is the nursery in?"_

_The two fire fighters had glanced at each other worriedly, before one of them kindly said, "Sir, I know this much have been a great shock. We found your wife's body in the study."_

_In disbelief, John had run up the stairs, not even heeding the shouted warnings from the fire fighters._

_Sam's nursery, with it's white curtains and Noah's ark pictures were gone, as were his clothes, and his crib. His stuffed animals were gone, and so was the play pen from the living room._

_Instead, the room which only hours ago had been his youngest son's bedroom was a study, just as the fire fighters had said, with a standard oak desk, and a handful of bookshelves. A framed family portrait hung on the wall by the door, miraculously having survived the flames, and John's legs had actually started to give out on him when he recognized it._

_Mary had hung it up only two days ago. The picture had been taken at the local pumpkin patch, and John could still remember posing for it, as he had held up a laughing Dean, triumphant with his miniature pumpkin, and Mary had smiled as she shaded Sammy's eyes from the bright sunlight._

_But in this picture, John and Mary were standing, both leaning in towards a grinning Dean._

_Sammy was no where to be seen._

_It was as if Sammy had never even lived their at all._

_That was really the first glimpse John had of just how drastically his life had changed in those few moments, as his wife burned along with his house, and someone, or something had stolen his child. He had looked, bewildered, at the two soot stained men, clutching Dean in one arm, and the soot stained blue blanket in the other._

_And Sammy was just...gone._

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural**

Sam got off the bus at the Lily Dale terminal, hitching his pack up higher on his shoulders. He could have driven, he supposed, he certainly knew how to steal a car.

Or he could have hustled some cash through means of his own. Anna probably had money on her too, Gabe always kept her well supplied and she wouldn't hesitate to wire it to him.

But Sam had taken up wandering a few years back, and found it suited him, drifting from place to place, or library to library as Anna would say.

Gabe had made sure that Sam was a savvy traveler, and Sam had been all over the world. Perhaps that was the problem. Perhaps the constant running and moving had instilled a restless wander lust in Sam that made it hard to keep still, even when Gabe deemed it safe to stay for a while.

Or perhaps it was Sam's memories of the other time line, his other life with Dean and John that drove him forward, much the way they had lived out of the Impala that Sam had stared at for a long moment in the Roadhouse parking lot a few nights back.

Sam's memories of that other life were incomplete, fragmented and a little disjointed, distant in a way, as if they belonged to someone else, which Gabe said was for the best.

Even Gabe, with all the powers inherent in an arch angel, had limited ability to remember the other time line. Gabe explained that it was a protective measure, designed to protect Sam's mind against the damage having lived two entirely separate lives could inflict on a human brain, even one as extraordinary as Sam's.

What Sam mostly remembered were people, Dean and John and Bobby and a few others. He'd remembered the green of Dean's eyes, and the way he smelled of gun powder and leather. And he'd remembered John's voice, the deep, authoritative timber that had somehow always equated safety in other Sam's mind.

He remembered events too, good and bad, though some times he was hard pressed to tell the order the other events had happened in. Going to school, which he'd certainly never done in this life time, and hunting, of course. Stanford, bright and dim and fractured, interspersed with memories of a laughing blonde girl that his memory called 'Jess.'

And sometimes, he remembered stupid little things, like the scent of the Impala's leather interior, the sound of her engine as they drove late at night, or the way Dean's amulet had shone in the sunlight against the black t-shirts Dean had always favored.

Combined with Sam's well honed psychic ability, and Sam was easily playing the game five or six moves ahead of just about everyone on the board, which was exactly what Gabe had always intended.

Until Gabe decided he cared more about Sam than stopping Lucifer.

A part of Sam had agreed with Gabe. The wanderlust was already instilled in him deeply, and most days nothing made him happier than wandering town to town, reading good books and meeting interesting people. He hunted, on occasion, when he saw the need, but until now he'd always been careful to avoid other hunters.

Then, several months back, Sam had had a powerful vision, of Dean being killed by a demon. The vision had returned, over and over until Sam practically saw it every time he closed his eyes.

He knew he had to stop it.

A part of him, the part that had started remembering Dean years ago, when he was too young to realize that not every child had two lives and imaginary playmates made real by a magical guardian, had always wanted to seek Dean out, to see him, here him talk, see if Dean recognized him.

Another part of Sam had held back however, afraid Dean wouldn't recognize him, wouldn't care about him. He knew Gabe had made Dean forget for his own good, and from he remembered from his other life, that might have been the best thing for Dean, since Sam was pretty sure that his other self had pretty much ruined other Dean's life.

Becuase, unfortunately, Sam remembered as much of the dark things as he did the good. He knew he had been an addict, and a piss poor hunter. He knew he had allowed Dean to go to hell for him, and that he had unintentionally let Lucifer out of the cage.

Other Sam hadn't just been selfish and foolish, he'd been dangerous, so dangerous that Gabe had been forced to undo an entire time line to prevent Sam from destroying the world.

Gabe had never said this to Sam in so many words, on the contrary, he was always adamant that Sam had been well intentioned, simply used and misled, but Sam remembered the truth.

Sam had broken the world.

So he had locked away the urge to seek Dean out, choosing to believe Gabe when Gabe said that this was the only way to protect Dean from the angels and the demons. Sam was the master key to the whole plan, and Dean was useless to them without him. Keeping hidden had kept Dean safe.

Until now.

However well he had hid it, Sam had been a wreck when he entered the Roadhouse. Dean had been there, playing pool, and the sight of him had brought forth a flood of memories from a life that had now never happened. A part of Sam had been desperate to go over and hug Dean, to hear his voice and find out once and for all if he really smelled like Sam remembered in his dreams. He had been wanting to do that very thing for twenty two years, but he had known he couldn't.

He had come to save his brother's life, and then get the hell out of it, before he ruined it all over again.

He stepped into the cafe on the pretty main street of Lily Dale, reaching out psychically, curious to see how many others in the famed town of psychics were shooting with loaded guns, so to speak.

Quite a few had a low buzz of power to them, but honestly, Sam could have said the same about the Roadhouse, as hunters often developed keen instincts nearly as good as psychic ability.

Well, at least no one here was a danger to him. He read a few interesting articles about some deaths here, and he knew that hunters usually avoided the town like the plague.

This should be a good way to take his mind off the brother who wasn't his brother anymore.

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural**

"And he said his name was what?" Bobby asked doubtfully as he watched Dean work through the stretches the physical therapist had assigned him upon release from the hospital yesterday morning.

Dean was almost back to one hundred percent, not counting his knee, and had refused to remain at the hospital any longer.

"Book." Dean said, looking up from the floor, where he was stretching out his good leg.

The Doctor had said it was important to make sure his other leg didn't get overtaxed while it was compensating for the injured one, and the last thing Dean needed was two bum legs.

"Book. What the hell kinda name is that?" Bobby asked incredulously.

Dean shrugged. "He said it was a long story."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "He said it was a...and was this before or after he took on the crazy, demon possessed trucker?"

"Definitely after." Dean asserted, heaving himself up.

"And then he just...gave you that shiny new party favor, a knife that just happens to scare off demons?" Bobby shook his head. "Sounds crazy to me, boy."

"Dingo ate my baby crazy." Dean agreed, drawing the blade from the small of his back, where he'd adjusted his holster to hold it also.

"But I didn't exactly imagine this, did I?" He said, giving it over to Bobby to examine.

Bobby turned the dagger over in his hands, looking at it appraisingly.

It was surprisingly light, made entirely out of a solid, bright silver metal that as far as Dean could tell, looked an awful lot like platinum. It bore no markings, and was keenly sharp. When it lay against his back in his holster, it seemed to warm to the temperature of his skin, and he tended to forget about it unless he wanted it for some purpose, like now.

"Could be a trick of some sort, a trap maybe." Bobby offered.

"No. No way." Dean said firmly, no realizing how definite his voice had gotten until Bobby had glanced up at him with narrowed eyes and a questioning brow.

Dean squirmed, unsure of how to frame his thoughts into words without sounding insane to the older hunter.

"The kid seemed genuine, that's all. He's obviously a hunter, that's why he was at the Roadhouse." Dean finally offered lamely.

"And why was he at the site of your attack?" Bobby asked pointedly.

"The demon was tracking me, that's what it said, anyway. Maybe the kid was tracking it. Maybe his family specializes in demons, maybe they make those knives themselves." Dean added defensively, unsure of why he was so protective of Book and his motivations. He'd never met the kid before, after all.

He was almost a hundred percent sure.

Almost.

He had just genuinely seemed like...he had cared that Dean was okay.

And three days later, Dean still hadn't shaken that nagging sense of familiarity he'd had whenever he'd looked at the kid.

Weird as it was, Dean was just sure the kid was...good.

And wasn't that about as Hallmark as an anniversary card?

Bobby snorted. "And maybe I'm Mother Teresa. Think what you want, Dean, but it's shady as hell, and Ellen or your Daddy would tell you the same thing."

"Yeah, well, Dad can say whatever the hell he wants when he starts bothering to answer the phone." Dean snapped, then closed his eyes, forcing himself to take a calming breath.

"Sorry Bobby." He said wryly.

Bobby just shook his head. "Idjit. You got enough on your plate with your Daddy and the demon fan club you've suddenly acquired. I wouldn't worry about this 'Book' character. If your lucky, you'll never see him again."

Dean frowned at the surprising sense of loss he felt at Bobby's words. "Yeah. Probably. So, you think it's useless to head up to St. Paul?"

Bobby nodded. "Caleb and Pastor Jim already checked it out. Your daddy's room was cleaned out, he was long gone. But..." Bobby walked over to his desk and rummaged through it until he pulled out a clipped news article. "I hear Florida is nice this time of year."

Dean took the article, skimming through it quickly, frowning when he realized what town it mentioned.

"Oh come on, Bobby, Lily Dale? That town has more fruit loops than the cereal aisle at the grocery store. None of those psychics are real!"

"You don't gotta tell me, boy. But so far, what they do have is two very real bodies, and some very freaked out witnesses that saw some strange things." Bobby said with a frown.

"I still got work to do on the Impala." Dean pointed out hopefully, but Bobby just raised an unamused brow.

"Boy, the frame on that old girl is twisted like a pretzel. I know your devoted, and I promised to help, but you can't even start on the body work until I get the frame straightened out, and the new parts come in. Here." Bobby tossed Dean a set of keys, that Dean caught easily.

"Take my other pick up. She ain't as pretty as your ride, but she's solid." Bobby said with laughing eyes as Dean grimaced.

"Leave that knife here, and I'll hit the books, see if I can find any info on a demon killing blade." Bobby offered.

Dean hesitated, surprisingly unwilling to part with the blade Bobby was holding.

"Uh, if it's all the same, Bobby, I think I'll take it. Say what you want about the kid, but he knew what he was doing, and nothing I have works on demons." He said, reaching out for the knife, grasping it quickly and tucking it back into it's holster.

Almost immediately, he began to feel a little better.

"Suit yourself, Dean. Go get your stuff then. Dead fake psychics are just as much a problem as dead real ones." Bobby replied, watching Dean with concerned eyes.

"This blows." Dean muttered as headed to his room for his duffel.

Freaking Lily Dale, of all places. If there was one real psychic in that whole damn town, Dean would give up pie for a freaking month.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Okay, next chapter of Tuesday's Child is up and running. I know a whole lot of action doesn't happen in this chapter, but I'm still establishing the characters and story back ground, so bear with me. Any of my readers who are Whovian are welcome to play 'spot the reference', because there are plenty in this chapter. I am having so much fun with this, and BA Sam. Dean's going to be pretty awesome in the next chapter, he'll get a chance to shine.**

**Enjoy, and remember, reviews are love. It's October first, new month, and my poor chart is empty all over again, so I am trying to update all four open projects today, so keep reading and clicking and hopefully reviewing.**

**Let me know if anything doesn't make sense, so I can revise as needed, time travel plots are notoriously bad about plot holes, and I hate plot holes like Dean hates witches.**

**As Always, **

**EverReader**

**Disclaimer: Not my sandbox**

**Tuesday's Child – Chapter Four**

"**Cracks In The Wall"**

_Book was a natural linguist. Perhaps it was because Gabe provided him with care takers who spoke various languages, and because they traveled so much, by both choice and necessity. Six weeks in a villa in Tuscany, three months in Venice, a fortnight in Tokyo._

_To some degree, it was also because of Sam's alternate memories. English was obviously his milk tongue, but he picked up both Latin and Spanish with an almost frightening ease. Italian and French soon followed, and perhaps that made sense also, as many of the Romance languages shared base linguistic roots and syntax._

_It was when they were spending a month in West Africa that Gabe realized that two year old Book was already picking up the local dialect, not just repeating nouns and verbs, but beginning to structure actual sentences. It had been a game of sorts, until then, as Gabe had a working knowledge of practically every language ever spoken by man, and Book always seemed to love when Gabe would give him new, interesting words to say._

_But now Gabe had to step outside of that mindset, and take a hard look at the situation. _

_Was this who Sam would have become in the other time line, had he been offered the same educational oppurtunities that Gabe provided Book with? _

_Was this brilliant intelligence natural, or the result of the demon blood, and Sam's original upbringing had simply been so slipshod that it had never truly been fostered?_

_Or was this a result of Gabe altering the time lines? Either answer was frightening, in a way._

_If this was who Book was always destined to be, than he would be a dangerous weapon in the hands of the demons, as language was obviously only the tip of the iceberg. _

_Book was already demonstrating an advanced understanding of scientific and mathematical concepts. Again, some of this was perhaps on Gabe, as he would do rather desperate things to keep the child occupied, and really, there were no other children in the history of mankind who had been raised by an Arch Angel, so there wasn't exactly a handbook. _

_If Book thought the Pythagorean Theorem made for interesting dinner conversation, who was Gabe to complain, as long as he ate his food? (Gabe was now fairly confident that human toddlers needed to eat at least a couple of times a day, so what was the problem with drawing figures in mashed potatoes, as long as they got eaten?)_

_But that meant that were the demons to ever get their hands on the child, they could easily mold the child into a dangerous weapon._

_Intelligence without kindness was a deadly combination._

_But the other alternative was still more frightening, the possibility that whatever Book would have been had he been allowed to remain Sam had been literally thrown out the window when Gabe changed the time lines, that Book was now in a state of both free fall and flux, the center of two converging time lines and that Book had become a singularity, that he could become almost anything or everything, growing into unexpected shapes and strengths as the forces of two conflicting realities came to bear on one little boy._

_If that were the case, Gabe might look up one day to realize that Book had grown wings, or that the sky line of London had changed overnight, because, to Gabe's knowledge, nothing and no one like Book had ever existed, and if it was that fact which was changing Book's abilities, than quite literally anything could happen._

_Anything at all._

_And as long as those two conflicting realities existed, there was always the chance that this time line would attempt to re-structure itself back to it's original shape, that events could 'echo' from one time line to another._

_The universe had a nagging habit of bringing certain things to bear, for events to happen, for people to meet, for choices to have to be made._

_And in the original time line, it was always meant to be Sam._

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural **

Sam smiled as he looked around the small street fair, though, in reality, it wasn't that small at all.

Lily Dale was gearing up for it's annual Psychic Showcase (two of the murdered psychics had, in fact, been headliners, a fact Sam hadn't overlooked.) The Showcase was still over a week away, but tourists had already started trickling in, and for the next several days, Lily Dale would be hosting a series of street fairs to keep the tourists entertained.

Vendors selling charms and amulets (most of which didn't work), Tarot card readers, crystal ball gazers, spoon benders, even a few belly dancers and fire eaters. Tables and booths dotted the streets and side walks, and of course, carts selling carnival fare, everything from funnel cake and curly fries to sushi and vegan meals.

It was exactly the kind of place Gabe would have gleefully taken Anna and Book to visit, and as Sam walked down the sidewalks, he mind moved wistfully over memories of his surrogate brother/father/guardian, and their last, almost bitter fight.

Book was pretty sure Gabe had never meant to come to care for him, but care he had.

It wasn't a crazy notion, as Gabe had always had a soft spot for little lost things, and the Arch Angel had been alone for centuries until Book, and then Anna had entered his life.

Book had only been an infant when Gabe had intervened, entirely dependent on Gabe for everything, and the interaction between the two of them was probably more than Gabe had encountered since he went into hiding. Angels were no more solitary by nature than humans, and just like a human caretaker, Gabe had come to care for his charge.

When Book grew old enough to start facing the difficult choices that came from being who he was, Gabe had faltered at the idea of Sam facing off with the other Angels and the demons.

Gabe's entire master plan had always hinged on the idea that a knowledgeable and well-trained Sam Winchester could take on Azazel, stopping the entire plan in it's infancy.

After all, no one but Gabe and Book remembered just how well the plan had worked before. It had taken hundreds of years of planning for the angels and demons to arrange for a pair of brothers like Sam and Dean to be born, and if Sam just made the right choices, the entire plan would hopefully unravel.

But the older Book got, the more hesitant Gabe became to put the plan in action. Instead, he began to lean towards the idea of Book simply continuing to hide, not wanting to risk Book's life in a possible showdown with Azazel, Michael, or worse yet, Lucifer.

Sam had agreed, on several levels. Even though he knew now that he had enough information to make better choices, he was frightened of what he had become, a blood addict, a monster, who had sprung the cage of Satan, leading to hundreds upon hundreds, perhaps thousands of deaths.

A part of him still remembered the pain of watching Dean die for him, of watching Joe and Ellen die because of him, remembering the crawling, insidious craving for demon's blood, and the endless pain, blood, gore and darkness that was a hunter's entire existence.

Had he not began to have the visions of Dean being killed by the demon, perhaps he would have simply gone along with Gabe's plan, remained Book, the tricker's adopted child, as most of the supernatural community viewed him.

He might have let Sam Winchester, with his guilt and pain and yearning simply fade away, a little lost thing in a world that too easily forgot people anyway.

But nothing is ever really forgotten.

Little bits and pieces remain, echos, like cracks in the wall that let in light, letting you know that beyond the walls you build up to protect yourself, there's another entire world out there.

And sometimes, there are things beyond the wall that want in.

Sam paused as he came to a booth with an agitated young woman inside it, phone held to her ear with one shoulder as she bounced a crying toddler on her other side.

Reaching out with his senses just a little, he quickly ascertained the child had an inner ear infection. He needed to go to the doctor, as it was already well established.

Pushing out with his abilities just slightly, he did his best to calm the child, to dim the awareness of the pain. Book often lamented that he was unable to actually heal, the way Gabe could, but his gifts worked more subtly. In this case, he was able to blur the child's sense of pain and fear, so that he didn't suffer quite so much, but the actual problem still existed. Like a metaphysical pain killer, Book was able to mask the pain for the child slightly until his mother could get him help.

"Hey, Jenny, it's Lena." The woman was saying on the phone. "I need help. Casey has a doctor's appointment in twenty minutes, I swear it's another ear infection. But I'm scheduled to have a booth here on Second Street until the carnival closes. You can keep anything you make, just as long as you man the booth. The city charges me $200.00 dollars an hour for a closed booth once I'm registered, empty booths look back to the tourists. You can't? Your grandmother? Okay, no, sure, I understand. It's fine, I'll try Marla." The woman hung up dispiritedly, and Book guessed that she had tried Marla first, and had just said that so Jenny wouldn't feel so bad.

Some people were kind like that.

"Okay, baby. Okay. Mommy just has to break down her tent." The woman said, and Book could tell she was near tears.

Sam glanced up at her sign. 'Magdalena, Palm Reader Extraordianire'. He shrugged to himself.

Why the hell not?

"I might be able to help." He said, and the woman glanced up sharply.

Book smiled disarmingly. "I have a bit of a...knack with this kind of thing. You just need a body in the booth, right, so the city doesn't charge you?"

"Um, well yeah. Have we met?" She said slowly.

Book shook his head. "I'm new in town, and honestly, I'm a little low on cash. You take your own cash box with you. I'll man your booth and give readings. When you come back in a few hours, you can take back over. I'll take my money, and you don't get charged. What do you say?"

The woman chewed her lip, but then nodded quickly. "Anything's better than paying those ass holes on the city council $600.00 dollars. That's my rent."

"No problem. Honestly, you're doing me a favor."

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural**

Dean dodged and weaved through the crowded streets, looking for the address of the antique shop one of the murdered psychics had bequeathed her belongings to.

Unfortunately, Second Street was hosting a street fair, and the street was so crowded he could barely see where he was going.

_Fake psychic...fake psychic...fake crystal ball reader...fake tarot card reader..._

Dean freaking hated Lily Dale.

A woman at a nearby booth was talking loudly on her cell phone.

"I'm telling you Susie, you have to check out the eye-candy Lena has manning her booth while she's taking Casey to the doctor. He's _gorgeous_. Well, I mean, he's practically twelve or something, but god, he's gorgeous. And tall, I swear, he looks like a six foot four puppy dog, he has these big eyes. His name? I didn't ask, how awkward would that have been? Maybe he's a cousin or something, he has high cheek bones like she does. What's he doing? Reading palms, and he's not half bad, if his tip jar's any indication. That's right, he just put a jar on the table, and people pay him after if they think he did a good job. It's pissing Tracy off, I can tell you that, she's charging twenty bucks a customer..."

Dean had stopped in his tracks at her description of the palm reader, mind mentally flashing back to Book, the way it had repeatedly over the last few days. Starting to walk again before his bad knee could stiffen up, he continued up the street.

Not a moment later, he passed a gaggle of giggling teenagers.

"I can't believe he knew Brad was going to ask you to homecoming, and then, like, Brad totally called three minutes later. And he said the admissions counselor was going to call me about the news anchor internship I submitted an application for, I am so totally psyched!" One girl practically shrieked and Dean grimaced.

"Did you see those dimples?" Another girl said, and the other three all nodded in unison.

"The shaggy hair was kind of cute on him." A third one added, leading to another round of giggles.

Dean shook his head and pushed on.

As he passed another booth, he heard yet another woman talking on her cell phone angrily. "I am going to give Lena a piece of my mind. That kid in her booth has a line half a mile long, I haven't had a customer in forty five minutes, and not only is he undercharging, but I think he's actually a little psychic. Lena's about as telepathic as a tea cup, what is she thinking, hiring an actual _Talent_ to work her booth, it's unfair to the rest of us."

This time, Dean was forced to re-evaluate his plan. The deaths he was here to investigate were hinky, to say the least, and the witnesses swore they were paranormal.

An actual psychic (not that Dean could think of a single reason why an actual psychic would be in Lily Dale) might have the mojo to pull something like that off, or at least they might be able to point Dean in the right direction. Dean had been thinking along the lines of 'cursed object', and most real psychics knew enough about the supernatural world to help out a hunter.

Bobby had a friend, Pamela, who helped on occasion, when she wasn't traveling for her work.

He began to scan the signs on the various booths, before realizing that if the kid was a fill-in, the booth's sign would be a little use.

Hadn't the woman said there was a line half a mile long?

Lowering his eyes, he soon spotted a relatively plain booth with an impressive line winding in front of it.

Pushing through the crowd, he fought for a spot that would allow him to observe the pan handler for a few moments, in order to judge whether or not he really was legit.

But when he finally saw the man sitting behind the table, he felt like he'd been punched in the stomach.

It was the kid from the bar, the kid who'd saved him.

It was Book.

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural**

Book forced himself to remain calm as he felt Dean's presence coming closer. The crowd and the presence of a few other genuine talents on the street had masked his presence at first, and Book hadn't felt him until Dean was nearly on top of him.

A part of him wanted to jump up and flee, just head for the hills.

He'd come to see whether or not this was a hunt, because he hadn't thought a regular hunter would, but Dean being here obviously disproved that theory. That meant there wasn't really anything holding him in Lily Dale, now.

Nothing but his decision to help Lena and Casey.

Book made it a point to keep his promises, and so he forced himself to remain sitting, doing his best to give genuine, upbeat readings to the remaining customers.

The afternoon was winding to a close, and as he graciously accepted the ten dollar bill from an old lady, he felt the stare of the older hunter, who had taken up watch at the corner of a building across the street. He hadn't come any closer, but Book knew it was only a matter of time.

His last customer came up to him, and he looked at her in the fading light. She looked a little battered and worse for the wear, and as Sam took her hand, he caught a glimpse of her in his mind, frightened as she ran out of a small apartment, a drunken man yelling obscenities at her as she went. Sam guessed she was younger than him even, barely nineteen, perhaps, and she was obviously on the run.

She held out a few crumpled bills with her other hand. "I only have three dollars, is that okay?"

Book smiled gently at her. "Let's see what we can do. What's your name?"

"Ellie." She replied softly.

Book nodded. "Okay, Ellie. I take it you need a little direction, and...a job, a place to stay?"

She gasped softly, and nodded.

Book closed his eyes, reaching further than he had all evening.

It was hard to describe, what he was doing, what he was looking for.

If you were willing to work with the universe, though, sometimes it...opened doors.

Book was looking for a place. A safe place, with an Ellie shaped space inside, where Ellie could plant herself and grow.

Book believed that people should get help if they asked for it.

_There._

He opened his eyes. "Okay, Ellie. Here's the plan. Now listen closely. Keep this." He gently closed her hand around her last few dollars. "And take this..." He reached into his own jar, drawing out several tens and twenties.

"This..." He held up three tens "You are going to use to buy another bus ticket. I know, you're sick of buses, but I promise, this is the last. You're going to go south, and get off at the third town the bus stops in. Whatever town that is, that's where you get off. Look for a cafe with red geraniums in a big, blue pot. Take this..." He held up another twenty, "And buy yourself a decent breakfast, and when the waitress offers you a second cup of coffee, you take it. And then you wait."

"Wait for what?" She asked, wide eyed.

He grinned, dimples flashing and she smiled back reflexively. "For the universe to line up one hell of a shoot for you. And when it does, say yes, Ellie. Say yes, and then use these..." He counted out three more twenties, "To rent the apartment you will see advertised on the bulletin board."

"This is insane." She whispered, eyes locked on him. "I can't take all your money."

Book glanced down at the money he'd laid out, one hundred and ten dollars in all, and shrugged. "Money's just money, Ellie. But some chances don't come twice. Some day, someone will come into your work, and they'll look scared, and broke, and their going to need help. And then your going to take some money out of your own pocket, and pay it forward."

She looked at him questioningly. "Did someone help you once?"

Book shook his head. "I've been given more chances than anyone deserves."

After a moment's hesitation, she gathered up the money and left, with a last, curious look at Book.

A moment later, Dean had come to stand before him.

"Funny, I never figured you for a 'Magdalena'. No wonder you go by Book."

Book stood, stretching. "Lena should be here any second. Just let me start breaking down the tent for her. Her kid's sick, and she's going to have her hands full."

He moved his tip jar to the side, quickly counting out the remaining money.

A little over three hundred dollars remained in the jar, and Sam pursed his lips in thought. Snagging out two twenties, he folded the rest neatly, putting it in a different pocket than the other forty.

He quickly starting breaking down the tent and table, and after a moment, Dean joined in.

Only a few moments after that, Lena and Casey rushed up.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Okay guys, I swear I start writing this story and it just goes wherever it wants to, it has a mind of it's own. I thought this chapter would have more action, but Dean in just too curious about Book to let it go easily, and for some strange reason, Dean is feeling really protective of Book, even though they just met, hm-mm...I wonder why?**

**Anyhow, I've just decided to see where this story wanders, and I guess it's okay for the boys to take a couple of extra chapters to get to know each other.**

**I'm having a ton of fun with story, and like I said before, my favorite part is that everyone get's to be a good guy, Sam, Dean, John, Gabe, Cas ( yes, eventually he will show up, and he will be good, though we will have that awkward period where Cas still believes in Heaven's mission and therefore thinks of Sam as evil.) I might even end up with awesome Meg in this story.**

**So, notes on other projects. Soulless666 mentioned in a review of the last chapter that they wished they knew what happened to Ellie, after she left Sam and Dean and the street fair. So, just for grins and giggles, I gave Ellie her own one-shot, complete with happy ending. It's a stand alone one shot titled "A Space Shaped Like Home" and you could find it by hitting up my profile.**

**If you follow Prisoner of War, that updated today. If you follow "How To Fix A Winchester", you might have noticed that I missed my fluffy Friday update, and the reason was this; I work the prompts for that story in order, and the next prompt was from one of my readers, DomBird. Their prompt was asking for a discussion between the brothers about Gadreel, since we never saw it on the show. The thing was, the prompt was really perfect for the next update I had planned for my canon project, Confessions Of A Boy King, so Dombird graciously allowed me to use their prompt to update that project instead, so that came out Friday night. If your a 'How To Fix A Winchester' follower, definitely check it out, because it could have easily worked for that project, it was just even more perfect for Boy King.**

**Reviews are love, love, love...**

**As Always, **

**EverReader**

**Disclaimer: Not my sandbox.**

**Tuesday's Child – Chapter Five**

"**Unfamiliar Memories"**

_It wasn't just their house, John would come to find out. Sam had seemingly been erased from the entire world._

_Birth records, shot and medical records, all gone._

_His pediatrician had no recollection of him, nor did the Doctor who delivered him. None of Mary's friends even recalled a second pregnancy._

_None of their other photo albums contained any photos with Sammy in them, despite John distinctly remembering fourth of July, and going to the lake to swim, could remember Sam laughing as John held him in his lap as he tried to eat the sand, the way the fireworks had startled him, but instead of crying, he'd only laughed more._

_And of course, there was Dean, who continued to have no memories of the little brother he had adored, no matter how many times John questioned him._

_John eventually cut a corner of the blue baby blanket, taking to carrying it around in his pocket, where he could rub his fingers over it reassuringly any time he started to wonder if he was actually losing his mind._

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural**

"So..." Dean studied the younger man over his menu. "Are you a hunter that just happens to be psychic, or a psychic that just happens to hunt?"

Dean had decided against going to the antique store that night, figuring it could wait until the morning.

The cursed object idea was a long shot at best anyway, and the odds of him ever stumbling across Book again were somewhere between slim and _never-the-fuck-going-to-happen-again_.

And Dean had questions.

The younger man chewed his lip, seeming to choose his words with care. "I'm a...wanderer."

He said finally. "Sometimes I stumble across a hunt, and if there doesn't seem to be anyone who can take care of it, I will."

Dean raised a brow. "You carry some pretty nice artillery for someone who hunts for a hobby. And the psychic thing?"

Again, Book seemed to pick his answer carefully. "I have a...knack, I guess you can say. Sometimes it's a little more spot on than others. It comes in handy, at times."

Dean looked at him carefully. "Back there, with that Ellie girl, that seemed like a little more than a 'knack'. That was some heavy duty mojo you were swinging back there. And I'm guessing she wasn't the first customer you surprised today, if those tips you stuffed into Lena's bag when she wasn't looking were indication. You pocketed, what, forty bucks for yourself? You must have tucked a couple hundred in her bag. I make more on a decent game of pool."

Book shifted a little self-consciously. "Money's just money." He repeated his earlier words to Ellie. "I have enough. Money's...not really an issue."

Dean studied him a little more.

His dark hair was over-long, and Book seemed to have a habit of using it to hide his eyes. His jeans were good quality, as were his shoes, but both were rather worn, to the point where comfortable segued into _ready-to-replace_. His knapsack, likewise, seemed sturdy enough, though it had obviously seen better days.

"How old are you?" The question surprised Dean, slipping past his lips without his intentions.

He was genuinely curious, but he'd first encountered Book in a hunter's bar, and the hunter code of ethics was firmly etched into Dean's morals, the first rule of which was- "Don't dig into another hunters business."

After all, no one hunted for the fun of it. Every hunter Dean had ever met had come into the business on a wave a tragedy.

Book grinned at him wryly, as if he were aware that Dean was breaking taboo.

"Twenty-two." He finally answered with a crooked smile.

"Are your family hunters? Is that where you got the blade you lent me?" Dean asked, leaning forward in order to lower his voice.

Legacy hunter's weren't unheard of, though the high mortality rate in the field often meant hunters never had a chance to start families. Still, there were a few, as Dean and Jo proved.

"My family is...unusual." Book said, a shuttered look coming over his eyes.

Dean found himself wishing Book's earlier openness would return. "The blades are old, and my...brother got them for me when I started traveling."

"Your brother?" Dean asked, with a curious, sinking feeling settling in his stomach. "Does...he hunt also?"

Book pursed his lips and shrugged. "Like I said, it's complicated. But the important thing is, those knives are old, and meant to hunt things even more dangerous than demons, but they'll kill demons too. Don't lose it, Dean. I wouldn't have a way to replace it."

Dean nodded, knowing Book's evasion on the matter of his brother meant the discussion was closed. Then a thought struck him. "How'd you know what my name was?"

Book tilted his head at him, smiling a little again. "Today, just now, or the other night, at the Roadhouse?"

"Either." Dean said quickly, trying once again to shake off that overwhelming sense of familiarity he had every time Book made a face, or tilted his head, or even some of the ways he spoke certain words.

Book tapped his temple. "Psychic, remember? The waitress at the bar, Jo, right?"

Dean nodded, shoulders tensing when Book brought up the woman he considered a sister. Dean felt protective of her, though it drove her crazy.

"She's a little bit of a...projector?" Book said, wrinkling his nose as he tried to think of a way to explain. "Some people are a little louder than others, psychically, I mean. Most hunters aren't, they tend to develop mental shields of sorts, comes with the business, I guess, but she's pretty young, or else she's just a natural projector."

Dean chuckled. "Oh, Jo's nothing, you should meet her mother. That's why you came to the Roadhouse, then? Peace and quiet? Are place's like this too...loud?" Dean asked, looking away at the new-agey cafe.

Book shrugged. "It doesn't bother me, usually. But yeah, hunters tend to be more...quiet, mentally. A lot of supernatural creatures are mildly psychic, and the hunters that have better natural shields tend to survive better."

Dean frowned in concern. "So, what, you're saying Jo's some kind of...beacon?"

Book shook his head. "I wouldn't worry, she's nothing alarming. I just meant that's how I picked up on your name and stuff, when you came over that night. Thanks for that, by the way."

Dean lifted a brow. "In the scheme of things, I think we're even. So, am I a natural projector, because we didn't even touch that night, but you managed to be there when he attacked me. So you were either following me or the demon." Dean's voice had hardened a little, as much as he liked the kid, he needed to know what had happened.

Book shifted again. "I had a...vision." He admitted. "I wasn't one hundred percent on the details, but once I saw you, more of them made sense, so I was able to zero in on the demon."

"What do you mean, zero in?" Dean asked suspiciously.

Book raised his hand and let it fall again, and Dean suspected he was one of those people who talked with their hands. Neither Dean nor John did that, but Dean had dim memories of his mother, Mary, in animated conversations with her friends, gesturing widely as she talked.

"Sort of like, with a pendulum or a Ouija board, except I don't normally need one of those. If I get close enough, I can usually zero in on something like a demon, if I have a general idea of where to look. Once I saw you, enough of the pieces fell into place for the vision to make sense, and I just...took it from there."

"You mean you have some sort of mental demon-finding compass in your head?" Dean asked skeptically.

Book shrugged again and Dean could tell he was becoming more agitated, more upset. "Um, something like that. Uh, listen, I should go..." He started to rise from the table and instinctively, Dean did also.

"We haven't even eaten yet." He said, trying to shift the conversation in a way that would allow him to get the information he needed without alarming the kid.

"Hey, I didn't mean to jump your ass. You saved mine, and I won't forget it, it's just a freaky situation..."

Book nodded, swallowing. "No, it's fine. I get it. Hunter's survive by asking the right questions. It's just...I'm sort of a loner, you know? What I can do is sort of hard to explain to someone who can't do it, and usually I don't have too."

"I get it, I'm sorry." Dean said, waving his hand at their table. The idea of Book leaving already rubbed him the wrong way. "Sit down and eat something, man. You're skinnier than hell for your height, dude. Jo's mom Ellen would have been chasing you around with a cheese burger if she'd been there the other night. That woman's the only reason half of those monster obsessed morons haven't starved to death."

Book chuckled a little, and Dean smiled, glad his gambit had worked. Still, Book stood by the table, wavering just a little, like he might bolt at any moment, and Dean felt a little like he was trying to coax a feral cat to eat from his palm.

"It's cool. Actually, I should probably hit the road, since you're here. I only stopped in Lily Dale because I knew hunters hated the place." Book said, chewing his lip again indecisively.

Dean got the sense that he was torn between wanting to stay and wanting to run away, a sentiment he could understand completely, as it described most of his entire life.

"You didn't think any of us would check it out, huh? Well, my Uncle Bobby had to strong arm me into it." Dean said with a laugh.

A curious look came over Book's face. "Your...Uncle?"

Dean looked at him curiously, attention caught by the slightly hungry look on Book's face, as if Dean were answering a question he hadn't dared to ask.

Normally, Dean was taciturn by nature, particularly about his friends and family, but something (or, if he were honest with himself, practically everything) about Book put him at ease, and he wanted the kid to sit down already. Dean still didn't have all his answers, plus, the idea of the kid on the road without having ate first actually bugged him, which was a first, since Dean couldn't really remember worrying about that kind of thing with anyone else ever before.

Maybe he was spending too much time with Ellen.

"Well, he's not my Uncle by blood, but he's probably better. Bobby Singer." Dean elaborated.

"Singer Salvage, up in Sioux Falls?" Book asked, finally sitting again, though he remained perched on the edge of his seat, like a bird ready to take flight.

"You know him?" Dean asked, surprised, as he was certain Bobby had never heard of Book.

Book shook his head. "By reputation only. All good things though. Clever guy, the go-to in that area, if I'm not mistaken."

Dean nodded. "You're not. Bobby's smarter than hell, though you'd never know it by the way he talks. He's semi-retired now, mans the phones and helps with the trickier research. Still takes hunts, but tries to stay more local unless someone needs back up badly."

Book nodded. "And he's your...sort-of Uncle?"

This time it was Dean's turn to shift uncomfortably. "I don't have any blood relatives, apart from my Dad. Bobby's been around as long as I can remember. Dad traveled a lot, and when he couldn't take me with, I usually stayed with Bobby or Ellen,"

Book looked at Dean intently. "So, you grew up at Singer Salvage, and the Roadhouse?" His voice had a funny tone to it, something that Dean couldn't quite put his finger on. Dean shrugged again.

"Well, Dad couldn't really raise me out of the Impala, could he?" Dean joked.

A pained expression flitted across Book's face, gone almost as soon as it had come, but the sight of it had lit Dean like a punch in the stomach.

"Nah, it's no way for a kid to live." Book said softly.

"Okay, I'm sorry, I gotta ask. We have absolutely never met before, right?" Dean said suddenly, finally unable to ignore the nagging sense of 'this-person-this-person-I-KNOW-THIS-PERSON' that screamed through his mind every time he looked at the kid.

Book looked over at him, wide eyed. "Um, no. I've never been to the Roadhouse, before that night, or Singer Salvage. I've actually spent a lot of my childhood out of the country." He said after a moment.

Dean looked at him appraisingly, not sensing a lie, but not sensing the entire truth either, or it was just that insane voice in his head that refused to believe that Dean hadn't talked to Book a hundred, thousand, _million_ other times before.

Because that was exactly what it felt like, like every word from Book's mouth was another unfamiliar memory,

The waiter returned just then. "Gentlemen, how may I make your evening even more wonderful tonight?"

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural**

Book bit back a chuckled at the bemused expression on Dean's face when their flaky waiter returned.

"Uh..." Dean stammered for a moment. "Bacon Cheeseburger, fries, chocolate shake?"

The waiter made a pained face, but wrote the order down obediently, turning to get Book's order.

Book hesitated, knowing he should leave now, while he still could, and yet...

Dean was the same, and yet so _different, _a puzzle, made out of the same pieces as the brother he'd once been to Book, in the life they never ended up living, but now formed in an entirely new, surprising shape.

The mix of familiar and unfamiliar was maddening and enticing at the same time, and Book was having a hard time breaking away, even when he knew it was for the best.

His hand gestures, his expressions, the way he shaped his words, that faint, faint trace of a Kansas accent, all were familiar.

But at the same time, he was so different, the things he was saying, about Bobby and Ellen, and Book felt like he was discovering the unedited version of his favorite movie, and this was his chance to see the deleted scenes.

Could one meal really hurt?

"What kind of soup do you have?" Book asked finally, and the waiter beamed as he began rattling off the cafe's numerous vegan, organic, locally sourced options.

Over his shoulder, Book could see Dean making a face, and he choked down another laugh.

"The vegetable soup sounds great, and I'll have a Caesar salad with it, please." He finally said.

Dean was frowning at him. "Dude, you know you're like, six three, right?"

"Six Four." Book corrected with a grin, then shrugged. "It'll be fine."

Dean rolled his eyes, then looked back over at the waiter. "You have any organic, vegan, locally sourced onion rings back there?"

After the waiter had left, Dean turned back to Book.

"So, I was hoping you could help me." He said casually.

Immediately, everyone of Book's senses went on red alert. "Oh, well, like I said, I'll be headed out of town after dinner." He evaded.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it, that's cool. It's just, we both came here to work the same case, maybe it...I don't know, maybe we should put our heads together, you know? Share notes."

Book hesitated again, panic eating at his insides.

He had no memories of working this case before, to his knowledge, in the other time line, he and Dean had never encountered this job.

Likewise, though he hadn't really had a chance to start investigating, he'd had no visions or anything else of value to add psychically.

This case would literally be a matter of footwork and investigation, and that could take a while...

"I really had just got here. You probably know more than I do. Like you said, I was just afraid no one else would show up..."

"Yeah, yeah, No, I get it. Actually, I have the case file Bobby put together for me right here." Dean held the folder out to Book.

Book wanted to refuse, wanted to walk away (run away) right then and there, but then he saw the label on the folder, where the words 'Lily Dale' were written in a familiar handwriting, and his hand reached out of his own volition.

He opened the folder, mind suddenly swimming with other-life memories of doing this very same thing a dozen, no, a hundred other times. He felt himself go pale, as sweat popped up on his brow, his limbs suddenly heavy and ungainly.

It was almost too much, the conversation with Dean, the folder, familiar and heavy and new all at the same time in Sam's hands.

Added to the effort he'd put into finding a safe haven for Ellie earlier after doing readings all afternoon, and it was probably a good thing he was staying and eating, since using his powers, or even just trying to draw out memories from his other life on purpose was tiring, burning a surprising amount of calories.

Even back when Book still traveled with Gabe, Gabe had always been pushing sweets and candy on Book, because no matter how much he ate, he always seemed to lose weight the moment he wasn't paying attention to it.

In the past two years he'd wandered on his own for the most part, he'd gotten too thin a few times, simply because he'd get caught up in things and forget to eat enough calories to make up for what he was expending.

"Hey, man, you okay? Your face has gone white." Dean said suddenly, and Book looked up, startled out of his reverie.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. I'm cool. Blood sugar get's a little low every once in a while, that's all. So you're thinking it's a cursed object, then?" Book asked, pausing while the waiter brought Dean's shake and Sam's water.

Dean stopped the waiter before he could walk off. "Hey, excuse me. My friend's got low blood sugar, can he get a glass of...what, orange juice?" Dean said, looking over at Sam inquiringly.

Sam opened his mouth to reassure Dean that he'd be fine in a minute, but the waiter was already nodding in sympathy. "Of course, the owner's daughter is a diabetic, so we always keep some on hand. Just give me a minute, and your food will be done soon also."

In less than two minutes, the waiter had placed a glass of orange juice in front of Book, and Book, feeling the heavy weight of two pairs of eyes on him, obediently raised the glass and drank until Dean and the waiter both seemed satisfied.

"Just let me know if you need a refill, and your food will be out shortly." The waiter said, before moving off to greet the next customer.

Ironically, the orange juice did make Book feel a little less shaky, and he wondered how Dean had known to suggest it.

Book didn't remember having low blood sugar in his other life, but perhaps he wasn't remembering everything. Or perhaps Dean knew someone else, and was just applying that knowledge to Book's case.

Gabe had done his best with Book and Anna, but he'd learned on the go, literally, and it had probably never occurred to him to try orange juice instead of candy bars back when Sam had been little.

"Better?" Dean asked, and Book nodded, feeling self-conscious again. "So, cursed object." he began again.

"That's my best guess, though, I admit, it's a weak one. I was going to hit up the store where the last victims belongings were sent..." Dean trailed off suddenly.

Book lifted a wry brow. "Before you encountered the street fair?" He supplied.

Dean shrugged. "Yeah." He agreed self deprecatingly.

Book sighed, looking over Bobby's notes again. It did sound like a genuine case, but something about it felt...off.

He wasn't sure why, but he didn't think cursed object was right. He had no idea what was right, though, and it made him uneasy knowing that Dean might not know what he was going up against.

Book had spent years trying not to thing about Dean hunting alone, but right now, with the man who was once his brother sitting across the table from him, he was failing miserably.

"Your food, gentleman." Their waiter announced with a flourish as he sat down their food.

After he left, Book looked over at Dean, making a split-second decision. "I guess I could stay another day. I gotta be honest, I think cursed object is...I don't know. It just doesn't feel right."

Dean nodding knowingly. "I know, that's what my instincts are telling me, but the necklace is the only link between the two women."

"Other than the showcase..." Sam murmured, looking through the file again.

"Huh?" Dean asked, and Book looked up, startled, still not used to having someone around to hear him when he muttered to himself ( a habit Anna teased him about unmercifully).

"The Psychic Showcase. It's a pretty big deal around here, and both victims were set to be headliners." Book explained.

Dean smiled a predatory smile. "Well, that sounds like motive to me."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: And finally I actually manage to update Tuesday's Child on a Tuesday morning. Okay, Prisoner of War updated last night, I'm hoping to update all the pretty monsters tonight. Remember, I wrote a one shot about chapter four's character, Ellie, called A Space Shaped Like Home, if your interested in reading it.**

**Reviews are love!**

**As Always, **

**EverReader**

**Disclaimer: Not my sandbox. Just playing with the toys.**

**Tuesday's Child – Chapter Six**

"**Nowhere Far Enough"**

_Book was only two when Gabe realized that he remembered. Not everything, thankfully._

_But enough. _

_It was funny how the human mind worked, how it endangered and protected himself at the same time. Book seemed to remember things from his other life, but they were a child's memories. He didn't remember Lucifer or demons, at least not yet, though Gabe suspected that in time it would come._

_No, what Book remembered a first was, naturally-_

"_DEAN!" Book said, giggling as he held up his drawing of their 'family'._

"_Me." Book said, pointing to the shortest figure, "You." Book added, pointing to the blond figure, that was apparently Gabe._

"_And...DEAN!" Book jumped up and down, please with himself as he pointed to the last man, standing on the other side of Book from the Gabriel figure._

"_That's good, Book. You did a good job. You know what I was thinking? We've never been to China! You want to go shoot fireworks off the Great Wall of China?"_

_Book nodded happily, already adding fireworks to the skyline of his masterpiece._

_Gabe swallowed uneasily. _

_China probably wasn't far enough._

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural**

The rest of their meal passed in a kind of casual tension, as each man tried to get they answers they wanted without alarming the other one.

"So, you didn't grow up stateside, then?" Dean asked.

Book shook his head. "My older...brother traveled for work quite often, we didn't stay any one place for too long. What about you, how often did you move back and forth between the Road House and your Uncle's."

Dean shrugged, taking a drink of his shake. "Just depended. Dad would work one part of the country, and then move me wherever was more convenient when he was ready to move on. Then, when I was fourteen, I was able to start hunting with him."

"Fourteen..." Book said softly. "That's young."

Dean grinned. "I wanted to start when I was twelve, but Dad wouldn't let me. How about you? Your family obviously knows the business, but are you actually hunters?"

Book shook his head. "No, my brother tends to work wherever catches his fancy. But yeah, his family has always known about...well, everything. My being psychic was just icing on the cake after that."

Dean looked at him carefully. "You said 'his family'. Don't you mean your family?"

Book's mouth went dry. He eyed the door longingly. The space between them across the table suddenly didn't seem far enough.

Dean seemed to sense his agitation. "It's cool, sorry. I know better. It's just, those blades, you know? I'm wondering why your family knew about them when no one else did."

Sam swallowed, hard. "Uh, well." He picked his words with care. He hated lying to Dean, every word felt heavy on his tongue, and he did his best to phrase the truth as discreetly as he could as often as he could.

"I'm... adopted. So's my sister, Anna. Gabe's family...knew ours, knew about my...ability. He took me in, made sure I understood what I was." Book said finally, forcing down the urge to bolt.

Dean blinked. "Oh, I'm sorry. It must have been hard, losing your family. Is Anna your real sister, then?"

Book shook his head. "No, she joined the family later, when her birth family died. It's been the three of us for...well, forever, it seems like."

They paid their tabs, Dean insisting on paying for Book's even though Book tried to convince him it was unnecessary.

"I have money, Dean. I'm a wanderer, not indigent." Book said with a smile as he reached for his wallet.

Dean looked at him, an odd expression in his eyes as he waved Book's money away. "Nah, I got it. I cornered you at the fair and practically dragged you in here. Plus, you saved my hide the other night, and then you apparently loaned me a one-of-a-kind ancient weapon. I think I can swing dinner."

After a moment, Book smiled. "Well, it's not one of a kind, there are several others, but the people who have them tend to keep tight hold of them."

"Who made them?" Dean asked curiously, hoping the blades were a safer topic than Book's family.

Book seemed apprehensive now, skittish even, though with the people at the street fair he'd been easy going, confident, even.

Had he had a bad experience with another hunter before? Other than the asshole at the Roadhouse the other night, of course.

Book could obviously handle himself, but Dean knew that while most hunters were respectful of any genuine psychics who they encountered, some were so single minded that they didn't care if they endangered the people helping them.

Dean always made a point not to get anyone involved in his case unless he was willing to give priority attention to keeping them safe.

He had no interest in seeing someone hurt because of him, but he knew some hunters who didn't care as much about collateral damage.

Had Book encountered someone like that, and that was why he was so reluctant? But then, why go to a Hunter's bar?

Perhaps it really just was like he said, he was used to wandering by himself, and any kind of attention unnerved him.

Dean could certainly understand that.

He wondered where Book's brother and sister were. He had a hard time understanding their being okay with him just...wandering, like some kind of vagabond.

If Dean had ever had a brother, he certainly wouldn't have just let him wander off, especially knowing what he knew about the real world.

Ellen certainly never let Jo stray like that, and even John, until now, had checked in with Dean routinely, making sure Dean had cash and cards and insurance. When Dean had been Book's age, he had usually hunted with John or Bobby.

Didn't Book's family worry about him?

As they approached the car, Dean looked at Book in realization. "You don't have a car, do you?"

Book shrugged. "I could, I guess. My sister drives sometimes. My brother would get me one, if I wanted. I like it better without, though."

Dean looked at him in consternation, thinking of all the gear he had stored just in his trunk alone.

"How do you get places? Don't tell me you hitch?" Dean asked.

Book smiled a little. "Buses, trains, sometimes I hitch rides, yeah." He admitted.

"Dude, you know how dangerous that is? What if some psycho picked you up?" Dean said sternly.

Book laughed. "Again, psychic, remember? And armed. And my brother made sure I received good training. I can handle myself."

"But...you don't have any back up?" Dean asked again, surprisingly alarmed at the idea of this lanky kid just wandering from town to town.

"Don't need it, usually. I'm not really a hunter, Dean. I wander because I like it. I know enough to see a hunt and recognize it for what it is, but I only get involved if no one else is." Book said.

"So, what do you do?" Dean asked.

Book shrugged again. "Mostly I just...wander. Meet people, see places. Read good books. Sometimes I'm able to help people, like today, with Lena."

Dean just shook his head again. In his opinion, Book's older brother should be shot for not watching out for him better, but he kept his mouth shut.

Book wasn't his brother, after all.

"So, where are you staying tonight, then?" He asked.

Book chewed his lip thoughtfully. "Well, I hadn't been planning on staying the night, so I guess I'd better grab a room, if I can find one, as full as the town is, with the showcase coming up."

"My motel still had a vacancy light up when I left." Dean offered, and after a long pause, Book nodded cautiously.

Dean waited just inside the office as Book reserved a room for himself.

He hadn't wanted to say anything unless it was necessary, but he had been worried about Book having enough money for a motel.

His own room was a double, a habit from traveling with John, and he'd considered offering to share with Book. He'd shared with other hunters, Caleb and John and Bobby and even Jo, with the threat of Ellen's wrath hanging over his head. Money was often tight for hunters, and it was easier to secure one room rather than two.

But, as skittish as Book had seemed, he'd decided against it,afraid Book would think he was some kind of creep, instead making sure he was available to help Book if he'd needed the money getting a room of his own.

He wasn't sure where "a wanderer" would normally sleep, but he had visions of abandoned houses and park benches and old warehouses swimming through his mind.

Not that he hadn't ever squatted, or even slept in the Impala when money was tight, but the Impala was easily as good as many motels, it was practically Dean's home.

To his surprise, however, Book pulled a platinum card out of his wallet.

Leaning forward discreetly, Dean read the name.

Daniel N. Lyons.

Huh.

Kid didn't look like a Daniel.

Dean had a sneaking suspicion that that card was as legitimate as the one he had used, with the name Steven Tyler on it.

Curiouser and curiouser.

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural **

Book hadn't wanted to use the card.

He had two others in his wallet, too, and they were all good. Book was adamant that the accounts Gabe set up for him contained real money, and didn't hurt anyone else via identity fraud. He knew hunters like Dean and John had few other options, but he did, so he made it a point not to involve anyone else in his life, even as a name on a credit card.

Gabe had gone along easily enough, actually having quite a bit of fun with Book's aliases.

The problem was, for a centuries-old arch angel, Gabe was surprisingly tech savvy, and now he knew exactly where Book was. Book didn't think he'd show up, and Book wouldn't change his mind if he did, but he knew Gabe could be...unpredictable when he was upset.

Gabe had little use for Dean, instead focused on Book and Anna. Gabe had opted out of the coming war, and he wanted Book and Anna out of dodge also.

As far as Gabe was concerned, Dean was dangerous.

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural**

Dean half-expected Book to be gone the next morning when he awoke, vanished into the night like the vagabond he apparently was. But when he opened his motel room door, he saw Book next to the car, kneeling down trying to offer a raggedy ally cat a can of what looked to be tuna.

"Making friends?" He said, amused by Book's efforts to tame the feral, unwashed creature.

Book smiled softly as the cat slowly oozed forward, sniffing the air. "Getting there."

"I get the feeling you have a thing for strays." Dean muttered, as Book stood, coming over to stand beside him.

"Okay, where too?" Book asked.

"Breakfast." Dean said decisively, and Book chuckled, shaking his head as he got into the passenger seat.

Dean glanced over, frowning for a moment. "You got enough room over there, smalls?" He asked.

Book looked over, startled, and Dean got the impression that he was so used to not having enough room that it didn't even register with him any more.

"I'm cool." He said easily, and Dean rolled his eyes, reaching down for the lever that scooted back the passenger side of the bench seat.

Book didn't say anything else, though his eyes seemed to laugh at Dean for a moment, and Dean felt the stupid urge to grin at him.

They returned to the cafe from the night before, and Dean prayed silently that they got a different waiter.

After breakfast (of which Book didn't seem to eat enough of, in Dean's personal opinion, but, whatever), they decided to head over to the antiques shop. Neither one of them still thought it was a matter of a cursed object, but they had no better place to start.

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural**

Book wrinkled his nose as they entered the antique store, though he doubted it actually contained many real antiques. It did, however, contain copious amounts of incense, and a low level buzz that signaled that something or someone in the store other than Book was hot, so to speak.

"How can I help you gentleman? Antiquers?" The man behind the counter asked. Dean choked back a huff of surprise, and Book started to smile, before his eyes met the eyes of the man behind the counter, and he felt an electric shock trail down his spine.

Another psychic, and a not half bad one, if he had to guess.

Book didn't go out of his way to avoid psychics, but they were a rare breed, most having only low level talents, requiring boards or cards or pendulums to act as a medium between them and the metaphysical world.

But with Dean in the picture, he had to be more careful. One carelessly spoken word could send Book's whole house of cards crashing down, and despite the fact that he knew it was for the best, Book wasn't ready to walk away from Dean just yet.

So he settled for walking away from the other psychic instead, ignoring Dean's startled expression as he quickly let himself out of the store front.

Outside, in the fresh air, it was a little easier to breath, though Book suspected it was less the incense in the store than it was the whole damn situation.

What the hell was he thinking?

What was he playing at, befriending Dean, agreeing to help out on a case. Dean could never know the truth about Book, which meant that practically everything Book said had to be a lie. He knew many things about this Dean were different, but he was certain that Dean's hatred of being lied to wouldn't have changed.

If Dean ever found out the truth, he'd be furious with Book for lying to him, for toying with him like this.

Book didn't mean to tell so many lies, he just found it too hard to walk away from Dean. He waited his whole lifetime (this one, anyway) to meet his brother, and, if Book were honest, Dean was better than he remembered.

This Dean was...strong, tough. He was confident, he didn't seem to need John's praise. He exuded strength and capability...

And he made Book feel safe.

Book hadn't even realized he hadn't felt safe, until the mere presence of Dean seemed to chase away the literal demons that haunted him sometimes.

Sometimes, when Book was around Dean, he felt himself relaxing into the old memories, memories that made him feel protected, cared for. Memories that made him feel wanted...

Memories this Dean didn't have, would never, could never have.

Book knew he should go.

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural **

Dean looked up in surprise when Book had bolted out of the store, senses suddenly on red alert for anything that could have threatened the kid, something that could have frightened him.

They were alone however, the store empty except for the proprietor and the junk he was claiming to be "antiques".

Dean glanced nervously out the door, suddenly sure that Book was about to bolt any minute, something he'd been waiting for the past hour to happen, if he were honest.

Book seemed genuinely distressed, though whether or not it was because of the case or Dean or both, he didn't know.

But he disliked it none the less.

Something about the kid, more than his seeming familiarity, pulled at Dean, fanned to life protective instincts in him he'd honestly had no idea he had.

Now, as he glared the proprietor into hurrying up with the necklace he was wanting to examine, he glanced over and over again out the glass doors, where he could see Book standing, anxiety clear on his face.

A moment later, cheap necklace in hand, he pushed through the doors, moving quickly to the younger man.

"Book, you okay?" He asked gruffly, feeling awkward, yet also needing to know if the kid was okay.

Book glanced up at him, distress clear in his large hazel eyes, and Dean felt..._something_.

Panic, anger, distress, fear.

_Something_.

Something about Book's eyes, the way he looked at Dean like he hoped Dean had the answers.

"Book, talk to me!" He ordered, wondering if the kid's blood sugar was misbehaving again. Maybe he had a candy bar in the car...

"I have to go." Book said anxiously, now looking everywhere but at Dean and Dean frowned, not liking the evasion.

Something had obviously spooked the kid.

"Hey, what is it? Did you have a...I don't know, a vision?" Dean asked, moving subtly to block Book's exit.

Book was breathing in deeply, raggedly. He shook his head. "I'm fine. Everything's okay." He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

"Sorry, I'm sorry. That guy's a real deal, like me, and it caught me by surprise. It's a little like static shock, I guess, but in my mind." Sam said finally.

Dean glanced back at the man through the windows, frowning. "That guy? How come he seems fine?"

Book shook his head. "I'm more...sensitive, I guess. Look, I'm not sure I can be of much help."

Dean frowned, then nodded. "Sure, I get it. You gotta do what ya gotta do. Can you just take a look at this first?" He held out the necklace that had belonged to both the women.

Book studied it in it's case, an unwilling smile curving across his lips.

"What?" Dean asked, smiling back in reluctant response.

Book's lips twitched once more as he held out the pendant for Dean to see the writing on the back.

_'made in china'_

"Oh, man, I freaking hate Lily Dale!" Dean groaned, and now Book was laughing.

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural**

"This case is the worst, Christ! Stupid, stupid psychics!" Dean was really on a roll now and Book laughed harder, because this is exactly how he'd always pictured Dean reacting if he had to deal with a place like Lily Dale.

"Book, man, throw me a bone. Apparently you and Antiquer dude are the only real deals in down. You got nothing, nothing at all?"

Book sighed as his laughter subsided. Dean looked genuinely distressed now, and it pulled at his heartstrings.

Why was it okay for him to help strays and runaways but not his brother? Surely he could keep things simple enough, easy enough to work one stupid case.

Didn't Book owe Dean that much?

Book nodded, thinking for a moment. "Well, I think you're just going to have to work this case like a cop, from the ground up. There may not be a whole lot of natural talent in this town, but there is a lot of crystals, books and artifacts. This necklace is phony, but even a ten year old can make mischief with the right spell book. There are simply too many supernatural options to pick our favorite flavor."

Dean was nodding, eyes narrowed in thought. "Yeah, yeah, you're right. Start with the victims, find the motive, see who fits the profile. Okay, come on!"

"Huh?" Book asked,looking up in surprise.

Dean grinned at him innocently. "Oh, come on, you're not going to abandon me now? A town full or liars and fake psychics? You're my secret weapon, kiddo."

Book heard Dean say the word 'kiddo' and he could have sworn, for a moment, that everything stopped. His mind, his heart, time itself, because he'd forgotten that.

He'd forgotten that Dean called him that, in their other life that wasn't.

Dean had called Sam kiddo and now memories were flitting across Book's minds eye like butterflies.

He swallowed. "Yeah, okay. Let's do this. Where are we going, anyway."

Dean's grin widened. "The first victim's granddaughter is due beck in town today. She's the only living relative. I figured we'd start there. Who knows you better than family, right?"


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N:**_** Yay! Chapter Seven is up and running. Okay, just some notes for readers new to my work. I re-work cannon cases in most of my projects, it's just a personal writing preference, but though I keep the basic case the same, all the details, names, locations, little twists and turns, all tend to change to suit my purposes, as I obviously did here with the history of Lily Dale.**

**So, how are we liking the boys? I love my vagabond Sam, capable and vulnerable, and my tough, I don't need anyone Dean, who doesn't even realize that a part of him has been looking for Sam his whole life.**

**This story has such a life of it's own, and Dean's protectiveness continues to surprise me. I keep trying to write him as more laid back, and case focused, and he'd having nothing to do about it, because he's pretty obsessed with this Book character right now.**

**So, apologies if I make any Sam/Book name mistakes, since my mind tends to interchange them frequently, I don't always catch the mistakes, even when I proofread my own work. Since both Sam and Book are real words, even my computer gets confused at what I want sometimes.**

**In other news, if you guys haven't jumped over to my profile and read "A Space Shaped Like Home", you might find it a really good read. It's a one shot about Ellie, the runaway who had a cameo at the end of Chapter four. It has a surprise at the end you guys might like. "How TO Fix A Winchester" updated yesterday, and yesterday's prompt was a !weechester!, which was fun. "All The Pretty Monsters" updated Thursday, and I had a lot of fun with that chapter, which is called 'Conference Call' and uses some unusual formatting for one section. "Prisoner of War" had back to back updates on Wednesday and Thursday, concluding the scarecrow storyline, so lots of action there also.**

**Last but not least, last week "Confessions Of A Boy King", which is my Sam-centric canon project, got a prompted update, which I really enjoyed writing, because it discusses the Gadreel fall out, and I needed to get it off my chest already.**

**Reviews are love, let me know how the boys are coming across. I'm worried the story is moving too slowly, but Dean's stubborn as a mule, so I can't seem to force him to go any faster. Do we like the slower pace, with more introspection from the boys? I could speed it up, but the interaction between the boys is so fun, I hesitate to, unless you guys are getting bored, so let me know your thoughts.**

**As always, **

**EverReader**

**Disclaimer: Not my sandbox...**

**Tuesday's Child – Chapter Seven**

"**Stranger Than Fiction"**

_John found himself writing again, a habit he had dropped shortly after he had met Mary. _

_Journaling had been a release, after the horror and pain and fear of the war. It had eased the transition, between soldier and civilian._

_As a soldier, he had received orders from a superior. If orders weren't available, he relied on his training, and the the severity of the mission to guide his actions._

_Though this situation was obviously severe, obviously of high importance, John didn't expect anyone to come and give him directions any time soon._

_So he spent those first few days gathering intelligence, looking for signs, for mistakes, left behind when whatever...thing...had taken his son, erased his son._

_Scraps, like the scrap of blue blanket he carried in his pocket._

_There were a few others. _

_In a desk drawer downstairs, safe from the fire, he'd found carousel tickets, from a trip to the zoo several weeks back. There were four on them, and for some reason Mary had kept the stubs. At the time, John had complained about having to buy a full priced ticket for a three month old, but now he was grateful._

_Though neither one of them had been particularly religious, Mary had also, for some reason, insisted that both boys be baptized when only a few weeks old. For both baptisms, she had chosen an out of the way church, an old rectory with an aging priest. Though the baptism certificate the old priest had painstakingly filled out had disappeared along with Sam, the old priest had also kept a ledger, and there, halfway down the page, dated for June 18th, was a line notated as-_

_'June 18th, 1982- baptized one Samuel Jonathan Winchester-age six weeks'._

_John had ripped the page out of the ledger when the other man hadn't been looking, and now it was tucked away inside the leather bound journal that had been his own father's._

_John had never used it before, unwilling to use something that had belonged to Henry before he had abandoned their family, but now, with his wife dead and his son missing, he found himself thinking of Henry, and of his complete, surprise disappearance._

_Though Henry hadn't disappeared as literally as Sammy had, he had disappeared completely. No paper trail, no body._

_He'd simply...vanished._

_Like Sam._

_Though John had no way of knowing whether or not it was the same type of situation, or if he was simply cursed to lose the people he loved, he now had to look at his father's abandonment with a more open eye._

_So now, as he wrote out his thoughts and findings, He desperately hoped that putting his words on paper would make them make sense, somehow, some way._

_And using the journal of John's missing father to chronicle the search for his missing son seemed appropriate._

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural**

Dean stood on the porch of a neat, tan bungalow as they waited for Marie Le Shay's granddaughter to open the door. They didn't have to wait long before a pretty, dark-haired woman in her late twenties stood before them.

"Gentleman, I'm sorry, but I'm not giving readings today. You might check with Magdalena, she's only a few blocks over."

The boys shared an amused glance before Dean spoke up. "Actually, I'm look for Amanda Woodsby. I'm Mr. Tyler, we spoke on the phone yesterday about your grandmother?"

Amanda frowned, looking from Dean to Book and back to Dean again, but she reluctantly let them in.

"I'll answer your questions, but no way your cops. Private investigators?" She guessed, taking a seat on the sofa.

Dean paused, eyes flitting to Book's again before frowning at her. "Ma'am?"

She rolled her eyes. "Okay. Cards on the table. I'm not psychic, neither was my grandmother. My family are showman, not supernatural. But I grew up in Lily Dale, and I've met enough real ones to know when I'm around one." She said, gesturing with her chin at Book.

Book blinked, clearly disconcerted, but then suddenly he grinned, all dimples and white teeth and sunshine and _please-mommy-can-I-keep-the-puppy, _and Dean watched in amazement as Amanda pretty much...melted.

"Okay." Book said, still smiling as he sat down opposite of her. "You got me. Steven here is a private investigator, and I'm contracted to help him with his investigation. His employer is very interested in old objects, antiquities and such, and whenever an...unusual death, such as your grandmother's, occur, he's dispatched to see if an object the likes of which he collects might have been the cause."

Dean looked at him quickly in consternation as the smooth (clever, brilliant kinda perfect actually...) lies fell from Book's lips, and Book's eyes laughed back at him.

Amanda was already nodding. "Oh. Well, I guess. If you say so. I know there are some objects with actual psychic energy, but it's not really something either I or my grandmother would have pursued. Those kinds of things simply aren't necessary with acts like ours. My grandmother bought most of her props online."

Dean chewed his lip. "What about tarot cards, crystal balls, altars? Or, did you ever do a joint act, have a partner, maybe, who might have something with actual mojo?"

They didn't care so much about objects any more, what they cared about was people and motive, but Book's lies had relaxed Amanda, giving her an explanation for their presence that fit in with her world view.

She shook her head, simply amused now. "No, she never worked with anyone other than me, and I was three states away. I travel a lot for my work, night clubs, conventions, even cruise lines sometimes. Most of the...psychics here in Lily Dale work alone, there can be a lot of rivalry. But, seriously, you actually think there's something to all this hoodoo nonsense? When I got that voice mail from Marie, I just thought she was being over dramatic."

Dean's gaze sharpened at her words. "What voice mail?"

Amanda shook her head. "It was garbled, it didn't make a whole lot of sense. She'd said she'd had a vision, a real vision, of a woman in black predicting her death."

"Like...a banshee?" Book asked curiously, and Dean shot him a look, curious himself at just how much hunting experience Book actually had, because Banshee's were rare. Dean himself had never encountered one, but Bobby had one. He'd said they were nasty, dangerous things, and not something to go against without back-up.

But Amanda just laughed. "Banshee? Are you kidding? No, not a banshee. It was Melinda Dale, or at least she claimed it was."

"Oh." Book said suddenly, leaning back in thought. "But, wait, isn't that the wrong sister? I thought Miranda, the younger sister was the talent? And, how did she even recognize her?"

"What?" Dean asked, looking from Amanda back to Book.

Book glanced over, eyes widening. "Oh, sorry Dean. Um, if I remember my history right, Melinda Dale was the older sister, and Miranda, who was a genuine psychic, was the younger sister. Melinda was...a showman." Book said, with a nod at Amanda, who grinned back. "Anyway, they were orphans, and Melinda raised Miranda. They lived and worked in a traveling circus, a freak show. But then freak shows became outlawed, and there was no where for them to go, as they could no longer travel from town to town."

Amanda took over. "They founded this town, but back then it was more of a 'community', for psychics to come and live without being ostracized."

"And get paid well to do so?" Dean guessed wryly.

Amanda shrugged. "A girl's gotta eat." She turned back to Book. "My grandmother's grandmother moved here shortly after Lily Dale was founded. The Dale sisters were both spinsters, and Miranda died only a few years after the town was founded. Melinda only lived a few years longer. All of their belongings and photos are over at the Lily Dale City Museum. That's the only place I can think of that Marie would have seen photos of the Dale sisters."

Dean thanked her for her time, and the boys let themselves out.

Looking over at Book as they walked to the car, Dean asked suddenly, "Hey, Book, if you just got into town, how'd you know all that junk?"

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural **

Book glanced up at Dean's words. "Hmm? Oh, well, for a psychic, Lily Dale is kind of pertinent history. There are a lot of flakes here, but a lot of real deals have moved in and out over the years, hiding in plain sight, at all that."

Dean frowned. "What do you mean, hiding in plain sight?"

Book chewed his bottom lip, like Dean had done earlier. "Well, I mean, think of it. If a genuine psychic wanted to use their powers, where better to hide?"

Dean tilted his head slightly. "Why would they want to hide?"

Sam sucked in a breath, wishing now that he'd just kept his mouth shut. Finally, he said "Dean, what makes psychic power so dangerous is the same thing that makes the monsters so dangerous."

Dean nodded thoughtfully. "The fact that no one believes in them?"

Book looked at him solemnly. "Exactly. But if someone did believe, and they got their hands on someone with real power, the psychic can't exactly go to the cops and get help."

"Well, shit. I've never had to think of psychics as an endangered species before." Dean grumbled.

Book laughed. "Well, apparently they are here in Lily Dale, right now anyway."

Dean stopped walking suddenly, and Book stopped also, turning to face him enquiringly. "Dean?"

"Are you running from someone, Book? Do you need help?" Dean said, the questions grave and serious and inquiring all at once.

Suddenly Book felt the _words_, the hundreds and thousands of words, the entirety of his double-life's story, fighting their way up his throat, desperate to break free, to pour out of his mouth and into the air so they could finally, finally be _real_.

So Book could finally be real, too.

But we don't always get what we wish for.

He shook his head. He wasn't denying Dean's words, just signaling that he wasn't answering the question either. "I'm a wanderer, Dean. That's all. It's just what I am now."

"Now?" Dean pressed, taking a step closer, and Book forced himself not to retreat from Dean's larger than life presence.

"Everyone has a story, Dean. I've got a couple. But that's all they are, stories. And they won't get this case solved." Book said quietly.

Dean stared holes into him. "Do you need _help_?" He said the words even more firmly, with even more DEAN-ness behind him, and Book swallowed, hard.

"I'm okay, now. Before...things weren't so good. But everything's going to be okay now." Book said finally.

Dean continued to look at him for a moment, and Book felt small, like he hadn't in years, and he wondered if this was what it had felt like to be Dean's younger brother all the time.

It was a strange feeling, comforting and restricting all at once, like stretching a knotted muscle, relief and pain all bound up in one tangled knot.

Finally, Dean said. "Okay, so what now?"

Book wondered if Dean was testing him, as surely Dean had run so many investigations by this point that he could have done this in his sleep.

Book shrugged. "The museum?" He offered. "A vengeful spirit might account for the murders, though, what would have triggered her at this point, I don't know. And it's odd that the spirit of the fake psychic is targeting other fakes, and not the other way around."

Dean mulled over Book's words. "You mean, instead of targeting live psychics, what, like you?" He looked over at Book again, like he was trying to decide if Book needed protection.

Book shook his head. "A ghost couldn't do much against me anyway, at least not without a lot of help. No, I just meant it was weird that Marie thought it was Melinda, and not Miranda."

"Maybe she got the two mixed up? Their mother wasn't exactly creative with the names." Dean pointed out. "Oh, man. Am I really going to end up digging up Lily Dale's only real psychic? This case BLOWS!" He grumbled loudly, and Book laughed again.

Leaving Dean when this was over was going to be hard.

He actually liked the guy. Not just the memory of him, but the real, flesh and blood person.

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural**

As they walked, Dean pondered over Book's words.

Book had certainly known a lot about Lily Dale. Perhaps he was simply like Bobby in that regard, curious and smart, and psychic to boot.

It could make sense for him to know a lot about that kind of thing, especially as his adoptive family knew about the supernatural.

Book also seemed to know a lot about running and hiding.

Dean was more certain than ever that this kid, however capable and independent he might be, was running from something or someone.

The only question was, was this thing still a threat? Or just the memory of a something dark that kept him wandering.

Dean could understand wandering as a coping mechanism, it was his own personal preference, after all.

If that was all it was, then that was Book's right.

But if something was trying to hurt him, then Dean could help. Or take him to John or Bobby or someone who could. Book's family obviously couldn't fix whatever was wrong.

Book had indicated that all the danger was in the past, but sometimes Dean would catch a look in his eyes, like somewhere deep down inside, Book was...waiting.

Waiting for what, though?

As they approached the museum, Book's words echoed in Dean's mind.

"Everyone's got a story. I've got a couple..."

Dean wondered who Book had been before he became Book, the vagabond wanderer.

Was someone out there waiting for him, too?

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural **

Book studied the photo of the two Dale sisters carefully. A resemblance could definitely be seen, though Miranda, the younger sister, had been prettier, more feminine. Melinda had a sharper, more angular face, with plainer features and a slightly sour expression.

"Well, she finitely looks like the vengeful type." Dean muttered.

Book frowned. "But why now? Why all of a sudden? And why target fakes, if she was a fake as well?"

"Melinda hated phony psychics, if that's what your discussing." A voice behind them said suddenly, and both boys tensed up a little as they turned.

"But, to my understanding, it was her sister who was genuinely talented?" Book worded his question carefully.

A man in a curator's uniform stood before them, polishing his glasses on his coat. "Oh, she was as fake as Velveeta cheese." He agreed cheerfully. "She participated in the whole show simply to keep an eye on Miranda. She was very protective of her younger sister, possessive, even, you might say. But she could be an impressive showman, when she wanted to. She was angry at the influx of phonies into Lily Dale, with flashier shows that she felt eclipsed Miranda's genuine talent. When Miranda took ill, Melinda blamed it on the stress of dealing with the other charlatans, even going so far as to suggest that Miranda had been poisoned by a jealous competitor. When Miranda died, she became quite bitter, becoming a literal shut-in. Before her death a few years later, there were rumors that she had starting delving into...more distasteful subjects." The man said delicately.

Book cocked his head curiously. "As in...the dark arts?" he guessed.

"Oh man, a fake psychic ghost who knows witch craft? Bobby owes me so big...!" Dean grumbled loudly.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: And just for you, my dearest readers, another fun update to Tuesday's Child.**

**Remember, reviews are love. They also make me feel this crazy urge to update faster...**

**Enjoy...**

**As Always, **

**EverReader**

**Disclaimer: Not My Sandbox**

**Tuesday's Child – Chapter Eight**

"**Stolen"**

_Book was about three the first time his psychic abilities announced their presence. There had been moments, in the past, that had given Gabe pause, but he'd never been able to determine for certain that Sam was having visions or getting readings from things, as opposed to just remembering random things from the other time line._

_As he held the frightened child in his arms, healing the nose bleed in an instant, he worried._

_Other time line Sam hadn't gotten visions until his early twenties, when Azazel had stepped up his game._

_Did this mean the demon blood was actually acting up already, or had the demon blood in the other time line simply activated psychic powers already latent in Sam?_

_If that were the case, then the changed time lines could account for the ability._

_Or, it could be come combination of all of those things._

"_He took them, Gabe." The child in his arms whimpered piteously. "He took them away."_

"_Who, Book?" Gabe questioned gently._

"_The other kids. The bad man sent the monsters to take them away." The child replied tearfully._

"_What bad man?" Gabe asked with a sinking in his stomach. Was Book referring to the other children who'd been infected with demon blood?_

"_The man with the yellow eyes..." The boy replied softly, and Gabe's arms tightened around him._

"_He took the others away, and he wants to take me away, too."_

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural**

Dean gestured to the two, side by side graves.

"So, you getting anything?" He asked hopefully.

Book's lips twitched in amusement. "It doesn't exactly work like that." He said softly, kneeling, balancing carefully on the balls of his feet, getting as close to the graves as he could without too much actual full body contact.

If one of the graves were 'hot', so to speak, likely to trigger a vision, the intensity of the vision would be tied directly to the amount of full body contact he had with it.

There was nothing but a low buzz, however. Definitely some spirit activity, but not the kind Book would expect from a raging, homicidal ghost.

He looked up at Dean. "I'm not getting much."

Dean made a face. "But you're getting something, aren't you?" He said morosely.

Book shrugged apologetically. "Yeah, but the graves are so close together, I can't tell which set of remains are hot. It's female, but that's it. I almost want to say it's coming from Miranda's grave, but that goes against everything we just learned at the museum."

Dean chewed his lip, nodding. "Well, your the real psychic. We'll start with Miranda. Don't suppose you feel like helping dig?" He asked hopefully.

Book laughed. "Yeah, I think I can do that. It's gotta suck, having to dig graves by yourself all the time."

"You have no idea." Dean testified, with a shake of his head. He tossed Book a shovel.

"Digging up psychics in Lily Dale..." Dean grumbled as they set in, and Book laughed again.

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural**

For all his grumbling and complaints, Dean was having...fun.

It had been years since he'd worked a case with a partner, really worked a case, not just stepping in to help with a slash and burn on a black dog pack, or calling Bobby for research on a voodoo case.

Book wasn't like anyone he'd ever met before, but they seemed to work together seamlessly. Dean would voice a question, and Book would provide an answer. Or Book would point something out, and just his mere words would seem to trigger the needed action in Dean's mind. The give and take was refreshing, and it made Dean wonder why more hunters didn't have partners.

Dean had never considered himself particularly personable. None of his close acquaintances were, save Jo, who was still as likely to start a fight as a conversation.

Hunting was rough business, and having a partner you didn't trust, or who didn't trust you, was dangerous.

Dean had grown up in the business, and the transition from always working with John or Bobby had been a lonely, though necessary one. There simply weren't enough hunters in the world for someone to hold your hand.

Dean had become used to silent nights lost to darkness and digging, to lonely roads and empty silences.

Honestly, most of the time, people almost seemed to much, too loud, too obnoxious, too abrasive to deal with for long.

A one night stand with a hot chick was one thing, but more than that was beyond anything Dean had ever been capable of.

He'd even found it hard, as he got older, to connect emotionally with Jo and Bobby and Ellen, like there was this space around Dean, in between Dean and the rest of the world, insulating him from everyone else.

Either Book didn't seem to feel the space, or it didn't faze him at all, because he seemed to move in and out of the bubble of solitude that Dean had been surrounded in for the last few years.

Even when he moved quickly, or spoke when Dean wasn't expecting him too, he didn't trigger any of Dean's razor sharp instincts.

Dean never found himself spooked by Book's actions, never felt himself unconsciously reaching for his blade or his gun, the way any given hunter usually did half a dozen times a day.

The world was dangerous, after all.

"Well, at least Melinda's motivations make more...sense". Dean huffed, as he scooped up another shovel full of dirt.

"Hmmm?" Book said, looking over at him. "Oh, because of Miranda's death?"

Dean nodded. "Hell, if I thought someone poisoned my brother or sister, I'd probably rip their lungs out."

Book stilled for a moment, before shrugging again. "Well, it was doubtful she was murdered. Psychics are pretty good at picking up on things like neighbors with murderous intentions."

"So, what, you think she just got sick and died, and Melinda went over the deep end?" Dean asked, pausing to wipe the sweat off his brow, leaning against his shovel for a moment.

Book continued to dig, obviously in good physical health, not that Dean had really doubted it.

"Well, she might have been right about the other thing." Book said thoughtfully, after a moment.

"Medical care and nutrition weren't exactly top notch back then. An if she felt her livelihood was threatened, she might have pushed herself too far."

"What, she died of exhaustion?" Dean asked, resuming digging.

"Hmmm, it's not that simple." Book amended, thinking out loud.

"Using psychic powers take a physical toll on the psychic. It's like using a muscle, practice makes it stronger. But unlike real physical exercise, it doesn't actually strengthen your constitution, your overall physical health. You can practice until your talents are extremely precise, but you're still going to have the same amount of physical fall out. You don't do the maintenance, you get sick."

Dean paused again, looking over at him. "Explain."

Book laughed a little, shaking his head. "I should learn to shut up." He murmured. "Okay, well, using psychic powers take a toll on you, physically. Everything from headaches and stomach aches and nosebleeds to-"

"Low blood sugar?" Dean guessed shrewdly.

Book shot him a look. "Maybe. Every psychic is different. You can learn to use your powers _better_, more precisely, so you can do more with less energy, I guess, but you still gotta do the maintenance. Know any other real psychics, other than me?"

Dean nodded, thinking of Pamela. "Yeah, one, out in the Midwest."

Book nodded. "Okay, well, you probably have never seen her sick, because anyone who works their talent full time does it right, or they quit, the symptoms just get too painful. But if you were to open their fridge, I bet you'd find everything from electrolyte sports drinks to meal replacement shakes. Psychics can burn calories fast. Open their medicine cabinet, and you'd probably find some pretty good painkillers, too, along with about half a dozen vitamins, maybe even glucose tablets. You don't eat enough, sleep enough, practice enough, you get run down, and then the first cold to come your way takes you down hard."

"Speaking from personal experience?" Dean asked, thinking back to last night, when Book's blood sugar had dropped, after he had spent the day doing readings.

"Some." Book acknowledged. "My brother made sure I knew the consequences, but everyone learns from experience, also. We're all different. I used to get nosebleeds kind of easily, but that's better now. I have to push myself pretty hard for that too happen."

"But, you just said psychics need all this stuff, food and drinks and vitamins, how can you use your abilities and just wander, without even a car or anything?" Dean asked, slightly horrified.

Book shook his head. "It's not as bad as all that. I don't make my every day living off of using my powers, the way Miranda did. I have visions sometimes, and I can use them, like earlier, before we started digging, but as long as I grab a meal in a couple of hours, I'm fine. My talent is...pretty big." He admitted awkwardly. "I don't really have to push the way some would to do what I need to do most of the time. The strain on me isn't quite so bad."

"Looked rough last night." Dean said a little pointedly.

Book shot him a look. "Last night I pushed it a little further than I expected. But I was fine once I ate, and I'm fine today. Miranda, though, wouldn't have had access to shakes and vitamins and stuff. If she'd gotten too run down, any cold or virus could have taken her out."

Dean nodded. "So, in a way, Melinda was right. It was the phony psychics fault Miranda died."

Book made a face. "Well, I guess you could look at it that way."

"How do you look at it?" Dean asked curiously.

"I'm responsible for my actions." Book stated immediately. "How I handle a situation, good or bad, that's on me."

As he spoke, his shovel clanked against something more solid than the dirt he'd been shoveling.

"Bingo." Dean said, kneeling to wipe away the remaining dirt. Book helped and after a moment, they were able to push aside the rotted wooden lid.

Miranda Dale had been petite, but little remained of her former beauty but her bones, pale and white inside the faded white rags that had once been the dress she had been buried in.

Book climbed out, then reached down to help lever Dean out. Dean accepted gratefully, as his knee had started aching again.

He hadn't mentioned it, but from the look Book gave him, he apparently didn't need to.

"Think we should take a stab at Melinda before we torch this one? The graves are awful close together." Dean said, looking over at Book.

The look on Book's face had him reaching for the can of salt, however, and now he could feel it also, the dropping temperature, the feeling of electricity in the air.

"Book?" He yelled, over the rising wind.

Book looked over, eyes concerned. "I think it's Miranda!" He called back, crouching to avoid losing his balance in the pocket windstorm that had now enveloped their section of the old cemetery.

Dean tossed the salt liberally over the bones, keeping one on Book as Book looked around, like a hunting dog trying to catch the scent.

Just as Dean was splashing gasoline over the salted bones, a woman, dark haired and dressed in white began to appear, directly in front of Book, who took a step back quickly, but then held his ground."

"You have to stop!" The apparition yelled, and Dean saw Book wince. He could only imagine how loud her words must have been to the psychic standing only a few feet from her, and he was do with Melinda Dale and Miranda Dale and Lily Dale in general at this point.

Miranda was raising her hand, trying to reach out and touch Book, and with a snarl, Dean tossed his zippo onto the bones, which ignited with a whoosh of flames.

The apparition wailed as she lost solidarity, her form dissolving as her bones, her physical link to this world, was destroyed.

Book had knelt comepletley down at this point, eyes still squeezed shut, and Dean knelt by him quickly.

"Book, you okay?" He asked, slightly panicked by the pained look on the young man's face.

"Yeah...yeah, I'm good. She was just...really, really loud." Book said, opening his bloodshot eyes to look at Dean.

"She was definitely a real deal." Book added, rubbing his forehead, and Dean guessed he had the mother of all headaches right now.

"Strong enough to take out a couple of phony psychics?" Dean asked, helping Book to his feet.

"Strong enough? Yeah, she was strong enough. She didn't feel particularly malicious, though." Book said, as they looked over at the burning bones.

"Maybe she wasn't, towards you. You're a real psychic, like she was." Dean countered.

Book chewed his lip. "Could be, but..." He knelt again, this time over Melinda's grave.

"Don't..." Dean started to say, remembering all the things Book had just said about psychics pushing themselves too far.

"I'm fine..." Book murmured, shaking his head. "Okay, that's weird. Maybe it was Miranda. Melinda's grave is totally cold. I don't sense any kind of activity at all there. It doesn't even feel like a grave."

Dean grinned. "Then we did it, kiddo." He looked around. "We'd better move, this is a pretty open cemetery, someone could see the fire from the road. Let's get cleaned up, and we'll get you some food."

"Hmm?" Book looked up from where he had still been focused on Melinda's grave. "Nah, it's cool. I'm good."

"Humor me." Dean said sternly.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: And, next chapter of Tuesday's Child.**

**Reviews are love.**

**As Always, **

**EverReader**

**Disclaimer: Not my sandbox**

**Tuesday's Child – Chapter Nine**

"**Traces From The Grave"**

_It was Missouri who ushered John into the dark world of the supernatural. She called it "pulling away the curtain". She was the one who finally gave John hope._

_And a mission._

"_I can sense him, your boy. But it's like...something's erased him. Blurred the edges, made it hard to see. I can't see him, John, but I can feel him. And the darkness, the thing that killed your wife."_

"_What was it? What killed Mary?" John said, thanking God that someone finally believed him._

_He had started to believe he was going mad._

"_A demon." Missouri spoke the word lowly, like a curse. "A dark one, and powerful. The most powerful evil I've ever sensed."_

"_And he's the one that took Sammy, that...that erased him?" John asked, heart in throat as thoughts of demons and fires danced to the soundtrack of Mary's screams._

_She tilted her head, a strange look coming over her face._

_She walked outside, to the tree where Dean had been standing when John had found him. In her hand she clutched Sammy's blue blanket, one corner ragged where John had cut off the section he now carried in his wallet at all times._

"_I...don't think so." She said finally, shaking her head. "It doesn't feel the same. It feels like...well, to be honest, I don't know. I've never felt anything like it. It was certainly powerful, but we knew that already."_

"_What has that kind of power? The amount of power it would take to erase my son from everyone's minds?"_

"_Everyone but yours, John. I wonder why..." Missouri mused aloud._

"_I don't care why I remember. I just want my child back. Why did it take him? Who took him?" John demanded._

_She looked at him, clearly at a loss. "I don't know, John. But, it feels like...like he was hidden."_

"_Hidden?" John said in confusion. "You mean, from the demon? Was something trying to hide him from the demon? The most powerful evil you've ever encountered?"_

"_I...yes. I think so. I think someone was trying to help, John. They hid your son, so the darkness couldn't find him." Missouri said, eyes wide._

"_So, why did it want Sammy? And how do I get him back?" John said._

_She shook her head. "I don't know, John. But whatever it was that took him was stronger even than the demon, or at least as strong. It wanted your son safe."_

"_And it didn't think I could protect him?" John asked desperately._

_She looked at him. "John, we don't even know what kind of evil was hunting your child, much less how to stop it."_

"_Then that's what I'll do. I'll stop it, and then, whatever it is that took Sam, maybe it will bring him back." John said desperately._

_Missouri shook her head. "John, you don't understand. This evil...this demon hunting your child. I've never felt something so dark, so powerful. You've never even banished a ghost before. The most experienced hunter in the world wouldn't have a chance against this thing. And you have another child to think of."_

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural **

The boys walked into the cafe and Dean grimaced at the sight of their previous waiter coming towards them.

"Gentlemen..." The waiter said, looking as happy to see Dean as Dean was to see him. His smile warmed when he looked at Book, however.

"You look like you could use a little more orange juice." He said, with a wink as he walked them over to an available table.

Dean found himself bristling. "He's fine. He just needs to eat."

Waiter glanced over at him, one brow arched. "Hmmm. Well, do you gentlemen need menus tonight? Or would you like the special? It's brown rice with tofu and vegetables, and it comes with a complimentary order of hummus and pita chips."

"Say what?" Dean asked, and Book laughed. "Um, actually, the special sounds fine for me. I think we're gonna need a cheeseburger for this one, however."

The waiter nodded, tossing a look of pique at Dean before moving off.

"Dude, he was totally hitting on you. And what the hell is hummus?" Dean asked in consternation.

Book opened his mouth, and then closed it again. "Hummus is made of chickpeas. And our waiter is in a very happy monogamous relationship. He does think it's a pity your eyelashes are as long as they are. Thinks they're wasted on you."

This time it was Dean's turn to open his mouth and close it again, and Book laughed again. "Dean Winchester, speechless. Hunter's everywhere should mark their calendars."

Dean finally shook his head, deciding to change the subject. "What about you? Your head okay? You were standing pretty close to her. Still hearing bells?"

Book tilted his head, looking like he was taking mental inventory. "Maybe just a little, but it will fade. Something about Melinda's grave is still bugging me."

Dean looked at him. "You said it felt empty. Doesn't that just mean she moved on?"

Book sighed, looking troubled. "Maybe. But...normally graves feel like their owners, even if the spirit has moved on. It's a little like a bedroom without the occupants. Yes, it's empty, but it still feels like them, you know?"

Dean frowned. "You want to go back and dig it up again, just in case?" He offered, wondering why the hell he was offering to return to the scene of the crime (literally, if they got caught next to an already desecrated grave, it could get ugly) just to assuage the worry of a psychic he'd met twice.

Though, the kid had saved his life.

Book shook his head. "No. It's too dangerous unless we have a good reason."

Dean arched a brow. "Dude, you're psychic. Doesn't a psychic's hunch count as a good reason?"

Book laughed. "Yeah, maybe. But it's unnecessary and dangerous if we've already solved the problem."

"Well." Dean said, pausing as the waiter brought their food and departed. "No one else has died yet. That's promising, at least."

They had almost finished the meal, and Dean's stomach was starting to hurt. Not because of the food, despite the waiter's less than gracious manner, the burger was fine.

No, it was something else.

The case was finished. It was time for Dean to move on, and honestly, the thought of leaving Lily Dale didn't phase him in the least.

But that meant saying adios to the kid, as well, and that was slightly more...disquieting. And not just because Dean still didn't have all his answers.

"Book." He said, and Book looked up inquiringly at him. Dean shook off another wave of familiarity, having come to the conclusion that Book was simply one of those people who felt like an old friend as soon as you met them.

Granted, Dean had never actually met someone who made him feel that way before, but what other explanation was there?

"Yeah?" Book asked, startling Dean from his thoughts.

Dean cleared his throat. "Do you have any idea why the demon came after me in the first place? Was it just because I'm a hunter? Was it personal? Or was it because of my Dad? Do you know, is my Dad okay."

Book opened his mouth and closed it again. Finally, he said "I'm sorry. I don't know where John Winchester is."

"Could you find him?" Dean asked, leaning forward.

Book chewed his lip, shaking his head. "I don't think so. As for the demon, it might have been because of your family, or it could have been personal, or because your a hunter, or all three."

Dean opened his mouth to ask about the specifics of Book's vision, when suddenly his phone went off.

He glanced down, eyebrows drawing together in surprise when he recognized the number.

"Amanda? How can I help you?" He asked, mindful of Book's cover story.

The sobbing on the other end of the line continued for another moment before Amanda's tearful voice answered him.

"My friend, Tracy. She's dead. She was on the phone with me when it happened. She swore it was one of the Dale sisters."

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural**

Book dug grimly, berating himself for not following his earlier instincts. They'd been forced to wait until nightfall, as their earlier digging had been discovered in their absence, and the police had taken a while to clear out.

Now they had to be even more careful, as patrol cars would periodically sweep through the cemetery, forcing both men to take cover.

"Shoulda listened to you." Dean said, voice full of self recrimination.

Book shook his head. "I didn't even know what I was feeling. It's not your fault for not acting on it. Honestly, I'm still confused, because we're nearly at the six foot mark, and this still feels wrong. It feels empty."

Dean grimaced. "Maybe that's because Melinda's still out there raising Cain." He offered, as his shovel thudded off the soft wood of Melinda's coffin. "Let's get this done before she tries a pre-game show like her sister."

Book stood back, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

When Dean flipped open the rotten wood of Melinda's coffin to reveal...nothing, he was actually relieved.

"Thank god." He muttered.

Dean looked at him strangely. "Come again? I'm not sure we should be thankful."

Book shook his head. "It's not that. It's just...this. This makes sense. This is why Melinda's grave didn't feel like a grave. This is probably what Miranda was trying to warn us about. Someone took Melinda's bones. Someone's directing her, channeling the spirit."

Dean closed his eyes in thought. "Okay, so, a few more answers, and some missing bones. Still not sure it's a fair tradeoff."

Book shrugged. "Now, at least we know. Whoever is directing her is obviously human, that's why they need a spirit to do their dirty work."

Now Dean was nodding as he climbed out of the hole, leaning down to help Book out next. "So, the question is, who has such similar tastes in revenge as Melinda? Unless they're just letting her loose for the fun of it."

Book shook his head. "I don't think so. All the murders have been well received performers, all had good spots during next week's showcase."

"So, back to professional success as a motive." Dean said.

"Sounds like." Book agreed.

Just then, Dean's phone rang again.

"It's Amanda." Dean offered, and Book felt his muscles tense up all over again.

He wasn't even surprised when Dean grimly hung up the phone.

"Let me guess. Amanda's next in line for her grandmother's showcase spot." Book said tiredly.

"Yup. And just for kicks and grins, she said she just had a vision." Dean agreed. "Fuck!"

Book startled a little when Dean suddenly yelled the word, not having experienced Dean's temper in earnest yet, at least not in this life time.

Almost immediately, Dean looked over, a contrite expression on his face.

"Sorry, Book. I just...shit. People are dying and all we have is an empty grave." Dean said, pinching the bridge of his nose, spreading more grime across his face.

Book felt a deep, instant need to soothe, to fix.

But the only thing that would make Dean feel better was resolving this case.

"Well, we do have the empty grave." He said, after a moment.

"Yeah, Book. That's pretty much what I just said. We got nothing." Dean snapped.

Book forced himself not to tense, reminding himself that if he reached, he could probably find dozens of memories of Dean in much worse moods than he was now.

Like, when old Sam had freed the devil.

Book breathed out, forcing away the less than pleasant memories.

He knelt, grasping a handful of the loose dirt from Melinda's empty grave. He looked up at Dean.

Letting the dirt shift slowly through his fingers, he said "Yeah, Dean. But we have the grave."

Understanding dawned on Dean's face. "You think you can use the dirt to track the bones?"

Book shrugged. "It's worth a try. It might at least narrow down where to look. Find the bones-"

"Find the killer." Dean finished. "Hell yes. Let's do this."


	10. Chapter 10

_**A/N:**_** Okay, next chapter of Tuesday's Child is up and running. If you follow All the Pretty Monsters, I swear an update is coming, I'm just working out some kinks. That will probably go up tomorrow, I just need to sleep on a plot issue so my brain can resolve it while I'm not looking.**

**So, everyone's asking about when Gabe shows up, if the boys are going to keep hunting together, ect. Sam and Dean need to lay some serious groundwork between them before Gabe shows up, so that is going to take a couple of cases, but then he will be a very involved character, as will John, Anna, and Jo. I just want to work them in gradually. As for the boys hunting together, yes, it's going to happen, but everything isn't just going to fall into place like dominoes. Remember, Sam still thinks being around Dean endangers him, so Dean is going to have to work for it a little bit (which, come on, aren't we loving protective-without-knowing-why-Dean?) Fortunately, fate has a way of bringing people together, especially Sam and Dean Winchester. Book is going to pull around, for a multitude of reasons, and sometimes Dean's going to let him, because Dean's not really comfortable with the idea of needing someone. (Don't worry, that just gives them a chance to miss each other...). So, in case you haven't picked up on it, I'll state it directly. This story deals directly with the idea that Sam and Dean are canon soul mates (not romantic/sexual, but on every other level.)**

**Hence Dean feeling that Book is familiar, hence Book having memories of him when he shouldn't. Also, one theory of time travel states that the people most effected by the change (Sam, Dean, John) are the people most likely to sense to ….wrongness, or feel deja vu. I'm toying with Dean a little later on having dream/memories of Sam from the original time line. This story is set in four parts, and the first part ends when Dean discovers who Sam really is, so I have some room to play.**

**Let me know your thoughts.**

**Reviews are Love! **

**As Always, **

**EverReader**

**Tuesday's Child- Chapter Ten**

"**A Perfect Circle"**

_It was Book who first knew of Anna's fall. _

_Gabe didn't understand, at first. Even though Book was an incredible child, at three years old, he was, just, three years old._

_She showed up in his pictures, time after time._

_A falling star, a comet, a rainbow of light, a giant oak tree. _

_Again and again._

_Eventually, Gabe picked up on the pattern, understanding that Book was trying to draw something he had seen in a vision, but hadn't completely understood._

"_Book, what is this? Is it a star?" He'd ask._

_Book just grinned at him from beneath shaggy bangs. _

"_Sister." Was all he would say._

"_Your...sister?" Gabe asked in worried confusion. _

_The changed time lines meant that, yes, technically John Winchester could have a daughter, but Gabe had been doing his best to keep a discrete eye on the man, and so far, his third son hadn't even been born yet, much less a daughter, unless John was getting up to more mischief than even Gabe realized._

_Book laughed.. "No. Not yet. Not Book's sister."_

"_She isn't your sister, yet? She's not...born yet?" Gabe had replied, seeking clarification._

_Book had looked straight at him. "No. Your sister. Yours."_

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural **

Book breathed in a deep breath, trying to clear his mind, trying to focus.

They had cleared the furniture out of the way in Amanda's living room. Book had instructed Dean to lower the lights, and to stay well out of the way. Amanda now stood beside him, chewing her lip worriedly.

Book knelt down in the center of the living room, a bowl of Melinda's grave yard soil beside him, and a map of Lily Dale in front of him. Clearing his mind as best as he could, he focused on the soil.

Objects were harder than people, for him anyway. People were so full of life, of possibilities and energy and emotions, sometimes it was hard for him to not get a reading from someone.

But objects, unless some kind of magic was laid on them, could hold nothing more than residual energy, memories, echoes of emotions and events.

Soil was even more difficult to use as a focus, because soil itself was made up of hundreds of thousands of particles, quartz, granite, organic material, clay, you name it, it was present somewhere. Some of those things made a better focus, such as quartz...

"Quartz..." Book whispered out loud, as a thought suddenly occurred to him. He stood, turning towards Dean and Amanda.

"Book? You okay to start?" Dean said, stepping towards him in concern, leaving the ring of salt without a second thought as he came towards Book.

Book blinked. "Yeah, yeah, I just had a thought. Amanda, do you have a crystal ball?"

Dean blinked at him. "Seriously, dude? I thought that was what the dirt and the map was for? Is it not going to work?"

"I haven't even started yet." Book responded, looking around Amanda's living room.

"Umm, yeah, actually. I don't use it, not my style, but it's antique. It was a gift. It's here, in the curio cabinet..." She said, starting to leave the circle of salt.

"No!" Both boys said in unison, and she blinked, startled.

"Okay, what is it with the salt?" She questioned.

Dean and Book looked at each other. Book said slowly "I'm going to try to use the dirt and the map to track Melinda's bones. But there's a chance I might summon her when that happens, and your already on her hit list. The salt helps ward off spirits, it will help shield you from her."

"What's with the crystal ball, though?" Dean asked, coming to stand beside Book. He hadn't wanted to stay back in the circle of salt in the first place, but Book had been adamant.

Book looked at him. "Psychic's used crystal balls as a medium, because quartz acts as a focus. That's probably how Melinda is moving place to place, by using things like that. They must be scattered all over Lily Dale.

"Like satellites." Dean muttered. "So, what, you want to use it also?"

Book shook his head. "No, it's too dangerous with Amanda being targeted. Take it out, to your car, maybe? That way she can't use it as a back door in while I trace her bones?"

"Okay. But don't" Dean stressed the word 'don't', "start until I'm back. She still might show up."

Book looked at him for a moment. "Okay, yeah, sure. You got it."

Dean took the crystal ball outside. Amanda spoke up while he was outside. "So, is he always so...protective?" She said curiously.

Book looked over at her. "I'm not sure. We...just met."

"Bullshit." She said, making a face at him.

He shrugged. "Met him a few days ago. Think maybe he's just that guy."

She arched an unimpressed brow at him. "Uh-huh. Whatever you say."

Dean returned. "Okay, Book, you sure about this? This isn't pushing it too far?"

Book shook his head. Honestly, he had no idea if he could pull this off or not, but he was determined to try. People were dying, and he'd made the decision to stay and work with Dean, which meant he needed to be an asset, not a hindrance.

"It should be fine." He reassured Dean, who hovered awkwardly for a moment before reluctantly moving back into the circle of salt with Amanda.

Book knelt down again, closing his eyes. Picking up a handful of the dirt, he let it shift through his fingers, dusting the map lightly with a fine coating.

At the same time, he reached, willing his power to find the answers locked away inside Melinda's grave site soil.

Slowly, sluggishly, the dirt on the map rippled, as if it were being stirred by a gentle breeze.

"Holy shit..." Amanda murmured in the background, but Book tuned her out, tuned out Dean, tuned out everything but his own will as he funneled power into the search.

He felt warmth trickle from his nose, and shifted as discreetly as he could so his face was tilted away from Dean. He didn't want Dean becoming alarmed and stopping him before he got what he wanted.

He pushed harder.

Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural

Dean stood inside the circle of salt, poised for action and feeling as useless as Book's bowl of dirt. He tried telling himself that it made sense for him to be back, out of the way, but still, alarm bells were going off. Psychic abilities were essentially receptive, but want Book was doing was projective in nature, closer to spell work that psychic work, and it had Dean on red alert. Back at the graveside, he'd been pissed off.

People were dying and he had nothing but an empty grave. When Book had offered to try and locate the bones using soil from Melinda's grave, he'd jumped on it, not realizing how much was actually going into Book's suggestion.

As he watched the young psychic, he could physically feel the energy in the room. It wasn't cold, like when a spirit manifested, instead, in felt electric, like when lightning was about to strike.

Dean almost imagined he could smell ozone.

He heard Amanda murmur in disbelief when the dust on the map began to swirl and dance, but his eyes were locked on Book's face, which had gone white with effort. He'd agreed not to interfere, and he understood that interference at the wrong point could be almost as bad, if not worse than not stepping in.

However, when Book shifted his face away, he stepped out of the circle of salt without hesitation. He moved slowly, carefully, as if tracking a wild animal, but Book was lost in his efforts, and as Dean came around to face him straight on, he saw that Book's nose had started bleeding. It wasn't too bad yet, but as Dean watched, another drop of blood fell from Book's jaw, dropping on the map.

That was enough for Dean.

They'd get their damn answers another way.

But before he could do anything, Book's eyes flew open and he jerked, nearly losing his balance and falling unto the map.

Dean was beside him in an instant, helping him to a sitting position carefully. Book blinked bleary eyes at him for a moment, before focusing.

"Book? Book? You good? Are you hurt? Talk to me!" Dean ordered sternly, but Book just held up a lightly shaking hand, silently asking for a moment before answering.

Dean's lips compresses unhappily before he turned to Amanda. "You got any juice? Orange, apple, chocolate, something?"

"Uh, yeah, yeah, I have some-" Amanda started to say but Dean cut her off.

"Don't care just go get it. He's gonna be sick if he doesn't get something!'

"I'm good, Dean. I'm cool. Just...need a minute." Book murmured.

"Yeah, you need something. Like a dose of common sense..." Dean muttered, pulling out his bandana and wiping away the blood from under Book's nose and chin. "What the hell were you thinking? Didn't you just give me a whole spiel about psychics dying because they pushed too hard? I wouldn't have agreed if I'd known it took this much out of you."

"Which is why I didn't say anything." Book replied, taking the glass of juice from Amanda with a grateful smile.

"Stupid." Dean said harshly. He didn't mean to be an asshole to the kid, but he'd been...frightened.

Or worried. Or something.

He wasn't very good at emotional crap, but he knew he didn't like how pale Book had gone, how his hands were shaking as he drank his juice.

"You need to eat." Dean said, falling back on the thing that seemed to work for sure, at least with Book.

"No, really, I'm good. I'm not even hungry. Just give the juice a moment to kick in." Book said reassuringly.

"Your nose started bleeding." Amanda said, eying the bloody bandana Dean still had clutched in his hand.

"It's okay. It just happens sometimes." Book reassured her. "The important thing," He said, gesturing to the map, "Is that I got it narrowed to about a one block radius."

Looking over at the map for the first time, Dean realized that the dust had all re-settled, forming a perfect circle.

Dean shook his head. "Dude, next time, skip the nose bleed and just settle for a two block radius. We'll just walk a little more."

Book laughed tiredly. "I'll try and remember that. Amanda, do you recognize the buildings inside the circle?"

"Uhh, well that's a saloon, that's the second street bar, and-" She started.

Dean interrupted. "Wait, second street? Where the pawnshop all your grandmother's stuff went too?"

"Uh, yeah, actually. 'Time and Again'". She agreed, looking from one man to the other. "Why?"

Dean looked over at Book. "Didn't you say that guy was a real deal?"

Book nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, I did. Low level, but genuine enough."

"So, why is he running a re-sale shop? Why isn't he on the showcase?" Dean asked, turning to Amanda.

She chewed her lip. "Well, he used to do private readings, but word got around that he upset customers, told the what he called 'the ugly truth'. Most of the time, people want to hear good things, not the truth."

The boys looked at each. "So," Dean said, "A legitimate psychic in Lily Dale forced to run a pawn shop because customers would rather get readings from fakes? Sound familiar?"

"Sounds bitter." Book said, forcing himself to his feet.

"Whoa, whoa, where are you going?" Dean said, steadying him.

Book looked at him, confused. "Uh, with you. Genuine psychic, bitter ghost, good time for back up."

Dean shook his head. "No. No way, it's too dangerous. Plus, you're barely on your feet right now, and just being in the shop with the guy earlier threw you off."

"I can help. I think we both know I can handle myself." Book said meaningfully.

Dean swallowed. "Yeah, but this is my case and you're not getting hurt on my watch. Besides, you're done in. And someone has to stay with Amanda, in case Melinda shows up while I'm dealing with Mr. Real Deal."

Book opened his mouth and closed it again. Finally, he said "Okay. But be careful. He might only be a low level psychic, but he has Melinda under pretty good control."

Dean grinned at him. "Who me? I'm always careful."


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Update, update, another-other update...sorry. Little too much caffeine. Okay, so here is the over due update to Tuesday's Child. I know the end might disappoint some of you, since the brother's have to part ways for a while, but I came across this amazing quote on pinterest. It goes- " Do you think the universe fights for souls to be together? Some things are too strange and strong to be coincidences."**

**I absolutely love the idea behind this, and decided I wanted to explore this idea just a little bit in the first few cases of Tuesday's Child. So don't worry, they won't be apart forever. I just want to explore how the universe might be them together a couple of times before these stubborn boys pick up on the game plan.**

**So, "How To Fix A Winchester" updated yesterday, with an amazing prompt from Colby's Girl, and "All The Pretty Monsters" should update this afternoon or early evening. **

**Speaking of Pinterest. NaNo starts in less than a week. My Mom's heart attack/surgery/recovery through me off my game this year. I did not get a chance to do any pre-work on a NaNo idea. I have decided to ride the wave of NaNo enthusiasm in my own way instead. My NaNo goal is to get 150,000 words up, spread out among my five open projects. That's about 50000 more words than I average in a normal month, so it's still a killer goal. Also, I have set an entirely insane viewership goal for my projects. I beat this month's goal a few day's back, so I am upping the ante for November.**

**Anywho, back to Pinterest. My last goal for NaNo is to spread the love around. I have been gathering inspirational quotes for writers on one of my Pinterest Boards for several months now, and I legitimately feel like they really help when my discipline is flagging.**

**So, for every post from today forward, I am going to attempt to share one with you, since many of your are writers, and even more of you should be (because once you start writing that story you're thinking about, I promise it will be awesome!).**

**So I am inviting any of my readers to share their favorite writing-inspired quote with me, and I'll share it, with credit to the original author, as well as the Ffnet reader who sent it to me. I'll also share your profile link, if you'd like, so that my readers can check out your work, if you'd like.**

**The best thing about FFNet is the support and encouragement we give each other, and NaNo is definitely a time when every author needs to feel the love, whether or not they are officially participating.**

**So, BlueRiverSteel sent me a great one this morning.**

"**There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside of you"-Maya Angelou.**

**She has some amazing Supernatural and Lord of the Rings Projects, and my favorite is "It's Sam".**

**I'd post the actual link, but somehow why computer always messes it up. **

**Reviews are Love!**

**As Always, **

**EverReader**

**Disclaimer: Not mine...**

**Tuesday's Child – Chapter Eleven**

"**Sleep Like The Dead"**

_John's first hunt was very nearly his last. It was only his utter and absolute determination that allowed him to survive the angry poltergeist's attack._

_But John has a secret weapon of his own._

_No matter how angry the poltergeist was, it could never match the simmering fury in John's soul, an ever-burning fire kindled by a murdered wife and stolen child._

_Missouri had said the greatest hunter in the world would be outmatched against the evil that had killed Mary._

_John was willing to take that bet. _

_Nothing could bring Mary back, but John was determined to get Sam back._

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural**

Dean eased the back door to the antique store carefully open, shining his pen light around as discreetly as he could.

The back room appeared to be for storage purposes, towers of boxes and piles of items piled haphazardly here and there.

It was also empty.

Dean let himself in, closing the door behind him as quietly as he could.

He wasn't sure where to start looking for Melinda's bones.

Human remains (bones, at least), could fit into a surprisingly small container, which meant they could be in anyone of the dozens of boxes in this room alone.

However, Dean had a feeling the shop-owner would keep them somewhere easily accessible. There was a door directly in front of him, that Dean assumed led to the store's showroom, and a staircase over to his left. Most likely, there was an apartment of sorts up there.

Dean chose the stair case, picking his way up with caution, stepping with care lest an unwanted creak betray his presence. His suspicions proved correct, the upstairs did house a small, shoddy apartment.

It was messy, with dishes in the sink, and clothes on the floor. Early morning sunlight streamed dimly through grime streaked windows.

The kitchen was clear, and Dean found nothing of interest in the living room or bathroom either. Opening the last door, he entered what looked to be the man's bedroom.

"Oh, man. That's just _wrong_." Dean said, louder than he meant to, the words shocked out of him by the sight before him.

Melinda's bones were arranged with care and precision, each bone in it's rightful place, laid out almost lovingly, on a piece of black velvet cloth.

On the shop keeper's bed.

"So judgmental. But then, most hunters are." Dean turned quickly, raising his weapon, but the psychic was one step ahead of him, and Dean didn't have a chance to dodge to cast iron skillet aimed at his skull.

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural**

Book slowly started to lever himself off of Amanda's sofa. Dean hadn't been gone long, but Book had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Maybe it was a warning, maybe it was just because it was Dean, maybe it was because of this whole, crazy mixed-up situation, but either way, Book was becoming more and more convinced that letting Dean go on his own was a bad idea.

"Book, I was going to make some eggs—whoa, whoa, buddy! Where do you think you're going?" Amanda said as she walked into the room.

At the sight of Book trying to get up, she hurried over, placing an insistent hand on Book's shoulder as she urged him back down.

"Dean said to stay there." She said in concern.

Book was already shaking his head. "I shouldn't have let him go without back up."

She looked him over shrewdly. "I'm not sure how much help you would have been, Book. You nearly passed out on my living room floor."

"Yeah, but that was over an hour ago. I'm better now, the juice helped. Thanks, by the way. I'm sorry if Dean came across as rude, he can just be a little..." Book trailed off.

"Protective? Possessive? Rabid?" Amanda offered.

Book looked at her in amusement. "Intense." He said.

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I'm just betting he gets real 'intense' with me if I let you up. He was really worried. I don't think he wanted to leave."

"Well, we are unfortunately on a bit of a schedule. And I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to be protecting you, not the other way around." Book observed wryly.

"I won't tell if you won't." She quipped with an understanding smile. "And if that...spell thing of yours helps Dean locate Melinda's bones, then I'd say you protected the hell out of me. Thank you, Book. You and Dean are literally saving my life."

"Thank us when it's over..." Book said softly, sitting up straighter as he registered the temperature in the room start to drop. "Amanda, get the salt..."

"Shit. _Shit-shit-shit_..." Amanda mumbled, looking around wildly as she handed the canister of salt to Book with shaking hands. "What do we do?"

"We wait. Once Dean burns Melinda's bones, she loses her tie to the physical plane. Until then, we just have to hold her off." Book replied, as a ghostly wind began to stir the curtains and the papers on Amanda's desk.

"What if he can't find them? What if he fails?" She said, as the wind began to gain strength.

"Dean doesn't fail." Book said.

"You have a hell of a lot of faith in a man you just met!" Amanda said, pitching her voice to be heard over the wind.

"Long story."

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural**

Dean struggled against the ropes binding him to the wooden kitchen chair. The shop keeper obviously didn't have much experience in tying people up, but he had made up for it in enthusiasm.

The shopkeeper himself was only a few feet away, chanting lowly as he swung a stick of burning incense over Melinda's bones.

"Hey!" Dean said, trying to distract the man from his ritual. "What the hell kinda kinky shit have you two been getting up to up here, huh?"

The man whipped around, two spots of angry color burning high on his pale cheeks. "Like you could ever understand, _hunter_. I'm a _real _psychic, I have genuine ability. Not like those phonies and frauds with their street fairs and their crystal balls. I'm an actual psychic, like your little friend from earlier. But none of the stupid tourists who come to Lily Dale are interested in hearing the truth. No, they want some phony psychic with a turban and a magic mirror to tell them they're going to come into money soon. I was _helping_ people, I was telling them _the truth_."

"Yeah, well, some people don't want to hear the truth. Like you, for instance. You probably have no interest in hearing that I'm a hunter, and even I think you're creepy as fuck. You got a dead woman's bones in your bed, man." Dean stalled, twisting his wrist back and forth, trying to free it.

The man narrowed his eyes. "Insult me all you want, but once I've taken care of the Woodsby girl, you're next."

Dean struggled harder, knowing that Amanda was a sitting duck, back at her house, with only a weakened Book to protect her.

And who was going to protect Book?

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural **

Book brushed his bangs out of his eyes, dodging as another vase flew at him where he crouched, shielding Amanda with his own body inside the circle of salt.

A book glanced off his shoulder, the stinging pain just one among many. A small cut high on his cheek dripped blood slowly, and Amanda was cradling her arm where another book had smashed into her.

"Book, what do we do? Should we run?" Amanda called out fearfully.

"NO! Whatever you do, don't leave the circle of salt." Book replied, ducking as a globe flew by, nearly taking his head with it.

"There's not much salt left! The wind's blowing it all away. We need another plan!" She yelled, frightened eyes locked onto Books.

Book swallowed, nodding.

He knew she was right. But nothing would eliminate the threat until Melinda's bones were salted and burned. Dean was the only one in position to do that right now, and Book had no doubt that he would.

It was just a question of whether or not he would get to them in time.

Book closed his eyes, concentrating desperately. Dean had been right, he didn't have a whole lot of mojo left at the moment, but maybe he had enough to strengthen the defense of the salt line. It was a relatively small circle.

He really had no choice, anyway. Dean needed more time, so Book would hold the line.

Literally.

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural **

The volume of the shop keeper's chanting rose again, and Dean took advantage of the man's distraction to finally work his right hand lose.

Quickly, with deft hands that had far too much practice, he yanked on the man's amateur knot, the whole pile of rope falling away like a poorly performed magic trick.

"Hey!" Dean shouted, and the man jerked in surprise, wheeling around to face his hostage.

Dean grinned ferally as he cold-cocked the asshole.

The shopkeeper dropped unceremoniously dropped to the ground, and Dean lunged for his bag of supplies where they had fallen when he had been attacked.

Aware of just how little time Book and Amanda might have, he wasted no more as he swamped the bones with salt and kerosene. Normally, he'd take bones outside, to avoid setting an entire building on fire, but he was beginning to think that torching the entire town of Lily Dale might not be such a bad idea.

With a hard flick of his wrist, he tossed the lighter onto the bed, and with an angry '_whoosh_', the bones lit up like the fourth of July.

As soon as he was satisfied that the fire had had time to do it's work, he dumped a bucket of water onto the bed, and practically ran out the door, desperate to check on Book and Amanda.

"Fucking hate Lily Dale..." He muttered.

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural **

"Wait...so..._in his bed_?" Book repeated again in disbelief. "_**His bed**_?"

"Right?" Dean said with a tired chuckle. "It's a new personal best for me. Or worst. Or...something. Jesus. I'm telling you Book, as far a psychics go, you're one of a kind for simply being _sane_. Monsters, I get. Monsters have real reasons. People? People are crazy. Dingo-ate-my-baby-crazy."

Book smiled wanly. "Yeah. People can do some crazy stuff sometimes." He pushed off from his seat on Amanda's porch steps.

Dean stood immediately also. "So, um. Thanks. For your help, and everything."

Book smiled again, warmer and more genuine. "Don't thank me. I'm just glad we were able to save Amanda." His smile faltered. "And, I'm sorry I don't have any information about..."

"My Dad?" Dean offered, running his hand through his already mussed hair. "Yeah, me too. But you've already saved my ass once, and now you saved Amanda, so I can't really complain."

"We both saved Amanda." Book corrected.

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess we did. We...made a pretty good team, actually." Dean said awkwardly. "You know, I keep saying this, but I can't help it. You never traveled through the Roadhouse or Singer Salvage before? You're positive? Because I'd swear..."

Book cocked his head. "What?"

Dean shook his own head. "It's just...most people, I can't wait to put a few hundred miles in between me and them. You're...I just...feel like..._I don't know_." Dean stammered, angry at his own inability to word his thoughts with any clarity.

Book smiled his one sided smile. "Yeah. I get that sometimes. Just one of those faces."

Dean shook his head. "I don't think so. But, whatever the hell it is, we did make a good team."

Taking a deep breath, he went out on a limb. "You know, it's time for me to move on, and I know you just came into town to work the case also. Can I...give you a ride somewhere?" Dean held his breath.

An hundred emotions seemed to flicker across Book's face in between one of Dean's heartbeats and the next.

Book looked at Dean carefully, as if memorizing his features. "I...I wish I could. But, there's somewhere else I need to be. Like I said, I'm a wanderer, Dean."

"Any chance you're wandering north?" Dean asked.

Book laughed. "Well, just about everything is north of South Florida, but I have another stop to make. Thanks, though. You..." He swallowed, and laughed a self-deprecating smile. "You looked out for me, which is...cool. It's really cool."

Dean grimaced. "Yeah, well, you've seen my car. Cool is obviously what I do. Okay, well, I get it, you have places to be..." He shuffled his feet, obviously feeling embarrassed that Book had turned down his offer.

Book couldn't bear for Dean to feel so...rejected.

After all, it wasn't Dean's fault that Book had once destroyed his whole damn life.

"Um, look...this is my number. Call me if you ever need any help. If I'm nearby..." Book shrugged, holding out a torn piece of notebook paper with a phone number on it. It actually went straight to a voice mail he had set up, that he checked a few times a day.

Dean took the scrap of paper, tucking it inside his wallet. "Yeah, yeah. I'll do that."

Book watched as the Impala drove off, feeling two lifetimes worth of conflicting emotions crush down on him.

Dean was _safe_, which was the most important thing.

He was also driving away, which felt a little bit like dying.

"Was it worth it?" Gabe's voice sounded from behind him, and Book sighed, turning to face the angel.

"Was one case worth the pain? The danger?" Gabe said with repressed anger as he stalked over, placing two fingers on Book's forehead, healing his myriad cuts and bruises in an instant.

Book met his eyes straight forwardly. He'd known Gabe was there, had felt him lingering in the shadow's as he'd said goodbye to Dean.

It had made it easier, and so much harder, all at once.

"I don't know." Book answered honestly.

"It's not too late, Book." Gabe said, voice suddenly pleading. "Anna's just up the coast. We could grab her up and pull a Hermione Granger. Go spend a year in the Australian outback."

Book shook his head. "I don't know if this was worth it, or if it was right, or just plain stupid, Gabe. I don't know. What I do know is, I'm not running away. Dean and a lot of other people are in danger because of me, and I'm not abandoning them. If they need me, I'm going to be somewhere I can get to them."

"I don't give a crap about Dean, Book. Or John Winchester, or the Queen of England. I care about what happens to you, and to Anna. And this country, hell, this whole continent is about to go to the dogs, literally."

Book shook his head again, taking a few steps back from Gabe. "I won't run. I promised I wouldn't hunt Azazel, or John, and I'm not. But I won't run."


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Yay! Next chapter of Tuesday's Child, and I'm pretty happy with it. Time wise, maybe two or three weeks since the last chapter has taken place.**

**Just enough time for the boys to really start missing each other...**

**So, my writer's inspiration quote for this update is-**

"**I spent the day giving birth to little words with loud cries". (Sorry, found on pinterest, and the link was dead, so couldn't follow to find author)**

**As Always, reviews are love. This might be my very first story to break two-hundred followers, which would be AMAZING!**

**As Always, **

**EverReader**

**Disclaimer: Not My sandbox**

**Tuesday's Child-Chapter Twelve**

"**Saltwater Specter"**

_In some ways, Book was completely, heart breakingly normal. He liked candy and cartoons and slides. He got cranky when he was tired. He was too trusting with strangers, and little old ladies had a habit of trying to grandmother him, much to Gabe's amusement, and Book's alarm._

_But in other ways, he was different. He always seemed to be looking, to be listening for something that never showed up, never happened._

_Gabe tried not to consider the idea that he was waiting for Dean._

_Most of the time, Book handled his double life well, chattering on about this or that in that roller coaster way of all young children, who find nothing about their own lives strange, because it's always been that way to them._

_But sometimes, Gabe would see Book look out the window, or pause and tilt his head a certain way, and he would wonder._

_So he did hid best to fill Book's days and nights with sights and sounds and interesting people, and funny things, to leave as little of that silence as possible._

_He tried to insulate Book from the glaring absence of someone Book instinctively sensed should be present._

_His brother._

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural**

Bobby sipped his coffee ruefully as he watched Dean hammer out the last of the dents in the Impala's exterior. He'd had her functional weeks back, but the last of the body work was just now being finished.

Dean had show up, two days ago, out of the blue. Dirty and tired and pissy as hell. He'd just finished a string of three salt and burns in a row, and he still hadn't heard from John.

Bobby assumed that was the reason he was so angry and unsettled he was taking it out on his Baby.

"Dean! Breakfast!" Bobby hollered, and Dean paused for a second, before resuming, his actions seeming somehow even angrier than before.

"Idjit..." Bobby murmured, as he turned to go inside.

He couldn't help but wonder if Dean's bad mood was somehow related to this "Book" character.

Dean had reluctantly admitted to him a few days ago that he had encountered Book while down in Lily Dale, and it made Bobby suspicious as hell.

There was no way the just..._stumbled_ into each other again. Bobby was a hunter, and he knew about the only thing that didn't actually exist was coincidence. But Dean had walked away, unscathed (physically, anyway), and to Bobby's knowledge, they hadn't seen each other since.

But every once in a while, Bobby would see him pull somehow out of wallet and look at it for a moment, a musing kind of confusion on his face, bewildered and (if Bobby didn't know better) _longing_.

But, Dean didn't call.

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural **

Dean didn't call the number.

When Book first turned him down, he'd felt embarrassed, rejected, almost. Then he'd been angry with himself for caring in the first place, because that was not how Dean Winchester worked.

_Period._

A half a dozen times, he started to toss the number in the trash, but at the last minute, he always stopped himself.

He told himself it was because a genuine psychic was too rare a resource to waste. He told himself that every good hunter cultivated a list in contacts. He told himself that in his line of work, he couldn't afford to not save a number like Book's.

He told himself a lot of things.

But mostly, what he found himself repeating to himself over and over again was-_do not call the number._

These feelings were the most legitimately confusing feelings Dean had ever encountered. Ever since he'd drove off and left Book back in Lily Dale, he'd had the nagging, haunting feeling that he'd lost something, forgot it, misplaced it.

Left it behind.

He found himself worrying about Book, where had the kid gone? Was he still alone? Was he hitch hiking? Was he eating enough, or using his powers too much?

Curious about the things Book had told him about psychics and their abilities, he'd called Pamela and grilled her. She been surprised about his questions, since most hunters were only interested in what she could do for them, as opposed to the toll it took on her, but she'd answered patiently enough.

She'd pretty much confirmed everything Book had said, and one thing he hadn't. He'd described only a little of what he had seen Book do, but that was enough to have Pamela whistling.

"Dean, that's a serious electric bill that kid was wracking up. If he was still standing when you left, he most have a shit-ton of juice." She'd said.

"Is that rare, among psychics? I mean, how many actual psychics are there, anyway?" Dean had asked, still trying to pin down where Book fell on the spectrum.

"Mild psychics? All over the place. Most of the time, they don't even know it. They just think their lucky that they never get caught in a traffic jam, or that it never rains when they don't have their umbrella. More moderate psychics are less common, but mostly because they don't know enough to use their abilities, or their scared, so they suppress it." She'd replied.

"What about you?" Dean queried.

"Well, when you're like me, or your friend Book, ignoring it isn't really an option. You learn to control it at least a little, though most don't make their living this way. A lot of them learn to block it out as best they can, and just try to live their lives." She'd said, in a voice that made Dean wonder if she wished she'd chosen that path for herself.

"But, how many are as strong as you and Book?" Dean pressed.

She sighed. "Honestly? No clue. I know of about half a dozen, personally. Historically, you see them pop up, but traditionally, they end up an endangered species if they out themselves. Among some of the hereditary witch families, and some of the hoodoo practitioners, it's a little more common, but not a ton. As far as the kind of mojo your kid was swinging around? If all he had was a nosebleed and a headache, I wouldn't want to bet against him. He could probably give you the winning lotto numbers for the next five decades."

He'd thanked her distractedly, lost in thought.

He tried to put the events in Lily Dale behind him, now that he'd known Book was telling the truth about psychics. Telling the truth about psychics and their abilities didn't mean he had been telling the truth about everything, but being able to confirm some of what Book had told him had eased his mind momentarily.

But it didn't stop Dean from thinking about him, which, quite frankly, pissed him off.

He'd had to resist the urge to call him several times already. He told himself that it was fine, that he was just checking up on the kid who had helped him. That people called other people and talked all the time.

But still, he resisted.

He was a grown man, for fuck's sake. He didn't need to have a daily chat with a bestie like some high school girl. What the hell would he even say?

_'I can't stop thinking about you?'_

Jeez. The kid would think he was a creeper or something.

But the truth is, Book had wormed his way into Dean's mind, and he appeared to have taken up residence.

He knew he'd been a dick lately, but he couldn't seem to help snarking and snapping. Everyone and everything around him felt wrong, felt off kilter, like he was driving the wrong way on the highway.

Like he had driven the wrong way all the way out of Florida.

Reluctantly, he put down his tools and headed inside.

"Car's about done." Dean said tersely, sitting down and digging into his food in the no-nonsense way of someone who hadn't always had enough to eat.

He felt Bobby's eyes studying him, but he ignored the older hunter's scrutiny.

He didn't feel like talking.

"Well." Bobby replied after a moment. "Maybe that's a good thing. You find any new leads on your Daddy?"

Dean stilled for a moment, resolutely pushing down his worry for John. He reminded himself that John could handle himself better than probably anyone on the damn planet.

"Nope." He said finally, in a tone of voice that let Bobby know that the subject was closed.

"So, what are your plans?" Bobby pressed.

Dean shrugged noncommittally. He'd taken on the last few hunts nearly back to back, determined to work the recent strangeness out of his system.

Two ghosts and a poltergeist later, all he had to show for it were a handful of bruises and a bad attitude.

Oh, to be a hunter.

"Find a gig." He finally replied when it became clear that Bobby was waiting on an actual, verbal answer.

"So, what, you're just giving up on the search for your father?" Bobby asked incredulously.

Dean stood up, shoving his chair back with harsh movements. "Like you said, Bobby. Dad's made it clear he doesn't want to be found. So in the meantime, I do my job." He rinsed his breakfast dishes with angry, jerky movements.

"It's not like it's the first time Dad's gone dark." This time was different, John had never been quite this dark for quite this long, but Bobby didn't call Dean on it.

Bobby cleared his throat. "Well, I might be able to help you out on the job part."

Dean looked over with shadowed, curious eyes. "What do you got?"

Bobby walked over to his fax machine, pulling off a sheet of paper. "Rufus called last night. Flagged a newspaper article from out on the east coast. He'd working a ghoul job right now, didn't have time to follow up, so he sent it my way. The story mentioned a woman drowning in her own shower."

"Jesus. What was she, a turkey?" Dean said, snorting.

Bobby rolled his eyes. "It seemed a little unusual, so I had the coroner fax me the report. Article was legit. Melissa Gunthers drowned, standing up, in her own shower. Except the water wasn't fresh water, wasn't even tap water. It was salt water."

"So, a girl drowns on sea water in her own bathroom?" Dean said, just to clarify.

Bobby nodded. "Yup."

"Sounds like a case. What's the name of the town?" Dean asked, reaching for the coroner's report to look it over himself.

"Connor's Ferry, Maine." Bobby replied. "About as north as you can go."

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural **

Dean didn't call Book.

Book tried not to think about it. Tried not to feel rejected. This Dean had no idea that once upon a time, they had been brothers. Had no reason to wonder about Book, to care about him. To this Dean, Book was nothing more than a transient psychic.

Granted, a transient psychic who'd saved his life, but, for better or worse, virtually a stranger.

So why would Dean call? Why would Dean ever give Book a second thought?

But Book thought about Dean. A lot.

Constantly might be a better word. The ways he was the same, the ways he was different.

He moved almost constantly, trying to keep his mind off Lily Dale, and his argument with Gabe. He met up once with Anna, but she was as restless as Book, and they parted again only a few hours later.

Book felt like a tumble weed, blowing about helter-skelter. He purposefully played tourist, steadfastly avoiding anything or anyone even remotely supernatural, excepting, of course, Anna.

He told himself that it was for the best. The whole reason he had got involved was to save Dean, and he had accomplished his mission.

All that was pointless if Book just turned around and sought him out. His presence could endanger Dean, would, in fact, almost certainly put his life, and perhaps his soul in danger.

He went to beautiful places, and ordinary, mundane places. He read books and talked to homeless people and listened to people playing drums and guitars on street corners.

He tried to remember who he'd been before that one, breath-stealing moment when he looked up from Lena's table in Lily Dale to meet the eyes of his brother-who-wasn't, and felt _real_, for one stupid, life-changing, heartbreaking moment.

Book had felt real, like Peter Pan when Wendy sewed his shadow back on.

He'd felt whole.

But Dean's safety was more important than Books personal wants and desires, so he'd walked the other way.

He got off the bus, looking around with a determined curiosity. He'd finally decided to take another hunt, on his own, just to see if he could shake himself out of the funk leaving Lily Dale had put him in.

He resolutely forced Dean from his mind, walking down the sidewalk to the Harbor he could see in the distance.

His curiosity had been piqued by the idea that someone had drowned on salt water while in a shower. Granted, drowning in the shower was suspicious enough, but the fact that it had been salt water was what stuck in Book's mind.

It was a personal touch, almost like a calling card.

He walked onto the docks, looking around at the various sized boats.

Connor's Ferry was a tourist town, as opposed to a fishing harbor. The boats around him were yachts, not trawlers or working boats.

He walked out to the farthest edge, scanning where the ocean met the horizon. He loved the ocean, always had. It was big, the way the sky was big, but more tangible. It made him feel old and young at the same time.

Closing his eyes, he reached out gently with his mind, just to get a feel for the lay of the land.

Almost immediately, he spun around, eyes wide with surprise as his breath hitched in his chest.

At the other end of the dock, there were a few two-hour parking slots for window shoppers and such.

And there, glinting darkly in the sunlight, was a black Impala.

Dean was leaning against it, an inscrutable look on his face.

Book swallowed, fighting his out of control heartbeat, willing his breathing to steady.

Had Dean followed him? As much as Book had wanted to see Dean again, that would be bad.

Very bad.

But what were the odds that he'd show up on the same case?

Granted, it was the kind of case that caught Book's attention, which meant, theoretically, that it was the kind of case that would catch Dean's attention.

Book walked forward slowly, hand tightening on the strap of his knapsack as he approached Dean.

"Well." Dean drawled, arms crossed across his chest. He seemed almost...angry. "I guess you did head north after all."

Was he angry at Book?

Book shrugged tightly. "Well, like I said. Every where's north of South Florida."

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural**

A maelstrom of emotions swamped Dean when he spied the familiar, lanky figure walking across the sun-weathered boards of the dock.

He'd told himself that he was nuts, That he was imagining things.

But the way the man held himself, the way he tilted his head as he looked out onto the waves slammed into Dean like a baseball bat into his guts, and Dean just _knew_.

It was Book.

He'd been about to leave, head into the main part of town and check out the scene of the victim's murder, but once he'd realized that it really was Book walking towards him, he'd planted himself against the side of the Impala with the immovability of a mountain.

He had thought, at first, that Book had somehow planned this, arranged for them to meet again, but the startled, almost fearful look on the kid's face had him tossing that notion as quickly as it had come.

Book was looking at him in trepidation, almost as if he expected Dean to take a swing at him.

Dean sure as hell would like to know who had hurt this kid.

Dean stood, moving away from the car. "Let me guess. You weren't sure any other hunters would show up?"

Book shrugged cautiously. "Usually, more than one body has to drop. Unless you've heard of more?"

Dean shook his head. "No, but drowning in the shower is kind of unusual."

Book looked out at the waves again. "Drowning in the ocean, while standing in your shower is even more so..." He said, troubled, a small frown creasing his brow.

Dean was already starting to acclimate to the undulating waves of familiarity that crashed over him every time Book spoke, or walked, or even just _breathed_.

He'd tried telling himself that he had imagined it, that he had over-played it in his mind, but here, facing the kid again, he could only shake his head in bemusement.

"Come on. Get in." Dean said.

Book didn't just hesitate, he startled, eyes going wide as he took a step back, nearly tripping over an uneven board.

Dean reached out without hesitation, grabbing Book's shoulder. "Whoa, hey. Relax, Book. I'm not gonna hurt you. Jeez, what the hell has you so spooked?"

Book looked over at him with wide, still troubled eyes. "Nothing, nothing, I'm fine. I just need...to go. You're here, so things will be okay. I..uh..."

Dean tightened his grip reflexively when Book started to pull away. "Have to be somewhere?" He asked in only a mildly sarcastic voice.

He was aggravated the kid was jerking away from him like a live wire, but more than that, he was concerned.

"Yeah." Book said. "Were...were you following me?" He asked.

Dean snorted. "I could ask you the same thing." He pointed out.

"Shit." Book said, and Dean laughed.

It took a moment, but Book began to reluctantly smile also.

"So...okay." Dean said, releasing Book's arm once it no longer looked like the kid was going to bolt.

Dean once again had the feeling he'd had back in Lily Dale, like he was trying to gentle a spooked horse. "You just got here, right? Please tell me you took the bus, at least."

Book's smiled widened a little. "I took the bus." He said obediently, and Dean scrutinized him for a moment, trying to decide if he was lying about hitch hiking.

"You better have." He grumbled. "Look, I'm not forcing you. I was about to check out the victim's house. I figured you could do your psychic super-power thing, and then we could get lunch." He peered closer into Book's face. "Unless you need to eat first?"

This time it was Book who snorted. "I'm fine, Dean. I'm not exactly fragile."

Dean held up his hands with a grin. "Hey, just trying to be helpful. So, what do you say? Wanna go find out how to drown in the ocean while standing in a shower?"

Book hesitated, physically swaying in his indecision, like a cat who couldn't decide if it wanted the freedom of the night, or the shelter of a warm house.

"Okay. Sure." Book said finally, and Dean's grin widened.

He resolutely refused to acknowledge that the tight ball of worry and confusion and _wrongness_ was unraveling in his chest at the speed of light even as Book climbed into the passenger seat on the Impala.

He looked over at the kid, who grinned back at him, fully engaged now that he had made his decision.

"What?" Book asked after a moment.

Dean made a face, shrugging helplessly. "I was...gonna adjust the seat for you, but..."

"Oh." Book frowned for a moment. "Seems fine."

"Yeah." Dean said, looking out the windshield quickly, as he just realized, he'd never readjusted it after the last time Book had ridden with him.

Like he'd been waiting.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Running super late this morning! No time for real author's notes. Enjoy. Review. Not mine.**

**Tuesday's Child – Chapter Thirteen**

"**Things I Almost Remember"**

Glancing up at the gracious white mansion in front of him, Sam felt that niggling sense of _remembering_ ghost over him.

He wondered, when the case had first caught his eye, if the reason he had felt so strongly about checking it out was because he and Dean had worked this case in the other time line.

Breathing through his overwhelming sense of deja vu as he and Dean walked up the steps, he assumed they must have. Though he didn't have any specific memories of this case, per se, it felt familiar, and that usually meant Book had experienced some version of these events already.

"Book, you okay?" Dean said, pausing before ringing the door bell. His green eyes were locked onto Book's were the intensity of a laser, and Book couldn't help but shift under the weight of them.

"Yeah." Book shook his head, trying to dislodge the half-memories. If he'd had time to sit somewhere quiet and sift through them, focus on them slowly, he might be able to make them clearer, more specific. As it was, they were nothing but a dim jumble of sights and sounds and faces.

Gabe had warned Book long ago not to rely on his other life time's memories too much.

Not only was this lifetime different enough that things could have changed (thus making the prior time lines information not only incorrect, but dangerous) but Book could easily get hurt trying to remember a prior situation or decision, when he should be reacting in real time to his current one.

Furthermore, his other lifetimes memories were dim and distant for a reason. People weren't meant to go walking around with more than one lifetime in their heads. To many dueling memories could actually be dangerous for Book. Gabe had always preached that he needed to stay focused on the present.

"Just...deja vu, I guess." Book admitted with a sheepish smile, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Oh. Huh. Guess that happens to you a lot, being psychic and all." Dean said, a thoughtful frown marring his brow as he studied Book. He'd kept Book in his line of sight since the docks, though Book wasn't sure if it was because he thought Book was going to run away...

Or because he was just...Dean.

Book chuckled. "Deja vu? All the time. I...get used to it."

Dean rang the bell. They had already decided on journalists as a cover story. Neither one of them had suits with them, and Sam lacked the identification necessary to pose as an officer of the law. A well coiffed older lady opened the door. She was dressed in black, with pearls at her throat and ears, and the way her gaze zeroed in on Book made him slightly...uncomfortable.

And damned if that didn't feel familiar too.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?" She asked, the question primarily aimed at Book.

"Uh, Hi. I'm Steve and this is..." Dean glanced up at Book, "Daniel, and we're with..."

"Are you working with Alex?" She interrupted, smiling flirtatiously up at Book.

"Uh..." Dean floundered in surprise for a moment, glancing towards Book for help.

Book felt the words flow from his lips as if he were reading a script. "Yes. Yes, we are. Alex had some research to do. We offered to talk to you, you know, a fresh pair of eyes and all..."

"Yes. Yes, of course. That would make sense. She's assured me that this will be closed by the end of the week." The woman said. "I'm Marcia. Sheila was my niece. The last of my family, now that my daughter's dead. Car wreck."

"So sorry to here that..." Dean said, glancing questioningly at Book as they followed Marcia into a large, open foyer.

Book could only shrug helplessly, not sure how to explain his 'hunch' to Dean. "Just go with it!" He mouthed, and thankfully Dean nodded after a moment.

"It was several years ago. Sheila was driving, poor thing. I don't think she ever forgave herself." Marcia said. "Now. I suppose you want to hear about the ship?"

"The ship?" Dean asked, glancing over at Book again.

"Yes. The ship. That's the priority." Book agreed.

"Yup. The ship." Dean echoed with a blinding smile at Marcia.

"Well, it's like I told Alex. Sheila mentioned it the morning before she died. She liked to jog at night, when it was cooler. She often jogged past the docks. She said she had stopped to get a drink of water, and she saw this ship, floating in the mist. An old-fashioned one, with sails. She said one moment it was there, the next, it was just...gone. Then, that evening, she's just...gone. The police are saying she drowned in the shower. On salt water, of all things. Now, how it something like that possible? It just has to be something out of the ordinary. I know Alex thinks it's a ghost ship, what do you think?" Marcia smiled brilliantly at Book.

Unnerved by her attention, this time it was Book who floundered, and Dean answered for them.

"There's really no way to be certain, yet. But it's definitely a possibility. I can see why Alex wanted us to talk to you." Dean said glibly.

Marcia took a step nearer to Book, who took a step back in response, eyes seeking out Dean's in mild panic.

"Alex has been such a comfort to me these past few days." Marcia again stepped closer, and once again, Book retreated. "But I'm starting to get worried. She's assured me that the case will be resolved by the end of the week. Will you be giving it your personal attention from here on out?" Marcia asked, reaching out as if she would touch Book's hand.

Dean intercepted smoothly, taking her hand and shaking it firmly. "Marcia, thank you for your time. We'll rendezvous will Alex, compare notes, and see what it's going to take." He reached out and shunted Book towards the door, effectively created a human barricade between the younger man and the woman.

Book went ahead of him all to willingly. "We're very sorry for your loss..." He called out over his shoulder.

"Yes." Dean agreed with a brittle smile that seemed to scream the words '_back off_ ', "We're very sorry. Come on Daniel..."

Book found himself back in the Impala in an almost unsettling amount of time.

"Whoa. She was all over you, man. Does that happen a lot?" Dean said, shaking his head in annoyance, though Book got the sense that it wasn't Book that Dean was annoyed with.

"I don't...think so." Book said after a moment.

Dean snorted in amusement. "You don't think so? I'm pretty sure that's something you would remember..."

"Yeah." Book agreed faintly. "You'd think."

"And who the hell is this Alex you were talking about? Do you know her?" Dean asked, searching Book's face.

"No. I mean, I don't think so. I just saw the opening and went with it, I guess." Book said. "Sorry. I didn't mean to hijack your interrogation."

"No real interrogation to be had. She told us everything outright. I was getting a little worried that she was going to try and crawl up in your lap, though." Dean said with a snigger.

"Uh...actually, me too." Book shook his shoulders physically, shaking off the feeling of Marcia's eyes on him.

"So, another, what psychic? Hunter? And a ghost ship." Dean said musingly.

"It's weird. I don't...sense any other psychics around..." Book said, frowning.

"Well, what's your range?" Dean asked, half joking, half curious.

Book shrugged. "I don't know. Pretty good, usually. Maybe I'm wrong. I just...usually feel them."

"Could be a fraud just trying to cozy up to the old lady." Dean suggested. "Talking about having the case resolved and all that."

Book grimaced. He was starting to have a sinking suspicion of just who Alex might be, but he decided to keep his mouth shut for know. There was no reason to think she was here, after all.

He turned his attention back to the issue of the ghost ship. "Dean, if you want to drop me off at the library, I'll start researching shipwrecks in this area. Dry-land drownings, too."

Dean arched a brow at him. "You ever research this kind of thing before?"

Book had to choke down desperate laughter. "Yeah. Yeah, once...or twice. But I'm pretty handy at research in general. I can find my way around a library."

"Well, I won't complain." Dean said. "I hate libraries. Give me a gun and a shovel any day. I'm going to, though. I'm not making you do it by yourself. Besides, the librarian might decide to take you home with her or something."

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural**

Dean watched Book with a kind of surprised bemusement. The kid hadn't been joking when he said he was good at research.

He wasn't just good.

He was freaking spectacular. He already isolated a pattern of dry land drownings occurring every thirty seven years, and now he was compiling stacks of research on the lore about shipwrecks and hauntings.

"Okay." Dean said, stretching the kinks out of his back. They'd been at this for several hours now, though Book gave no sign that it had occurred to him to take a break. "Maybe we should get some dinner, and then come back."

"Huh?" Book glanced up. "I'm okay. Go get some food if you're hungry. There's a ton of shipwrecks I still haven't got the details on."

"Dude, it's after five. You haven't eaten anything since we met up. How many shipwrecks can there be in this area, anyway?" Dean asked with a frown. The kid might have come up here on his own, but this was Dean's hunt. Book was helping him, and that made him Dean's responsibility.

"Ships with sails?" Book said, looking over at his list, "I'm up to about one hundred and fifty."

"Well...shit." Dean said with a sigh. Then he shook his head. "Nope. That just makes my point more valid. Come on, you can bring your research if it makes you happy, but you need to eat too. Don't want you getting all 'shaky psychic' on me."

"Shaky psychic?" Book asked, making what Dean could only describe as a 'bitch face'. "You do realize that someone of my size doesn't really qualify as fragile, right?"

"Blah, blah, blah. Food. Let's go." Dean said, physically pulling the kid's laptop away from him and shutting it gently.

Book sighed, but got up obediently. Dean lead the way out the door, but then stopped so suddenly in his tracks that Book actually stumbled into him.

"Dean, what is it? What's wrong?" Book asked in confusion.

Dean didn't answer, too busy looking frantically up and down the street. "The car." He whispered, feeling like he was going to have a panic attack right there in the middle of the street. "My CAR! IT'S GONE"

"Whoa, whoa. It's okay. It's cool. Maybe we turned into the wrong lot, or..." Book trailed off.

Dean was shaking his head in strong negation. "No. It was here. _Right here_. The car is gone, someone stole my car, we have to call THE COPS..."

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you. Not with that arsenal you no doubt carry in the trunk." The accented voice echoed in the still night air as the woman approached, heels clicking on the pavement.

"Who the Hell are you?" Dean growled at the same time that Book sighed heavily behind him.

"Bela." Book greeted the brunette resignedly.

"You know her?" Dean said, turning to look at Book. The kid looked unhappy, to say the least. He was facing the woman, eyes tracking her the way a store employee would watch a shoplifter.

"I know her." He admitted her reluctantly. "Her name's Bela Talbot, and she's trouble."

"Book." She chided. "You always say the sweetest things. How's Anna?"

"She might have mentioned hitting you with her car if she ever saw you again." Book offered. "Wait a minute. You're Alex, aren't you. You're conning that poor old woman, aren't you!"

Book turned to Dean. "She's a con artist, and a thief. She specializes in...unusual things."

"Charming." Dean muttered, looking at the woman with mild disgust.

She was pretty, beautiful, really, but Dean had little respect for those who preyed on others for a living. Sure, he and John used card scams when they had too, but hunting wasn't really a paying job.

"Pleasure to meet you. Now, I'm sorry, if I heard right, you appear to have misplaced your vehicle. There was a car here, a black Impala..."

Only Book's restraining hand on his shoulder kept Dean from throttling the woman right in front of the library.

"Dean!" Book said urgently.

"Where's my car!" Dean growled, hand on his gun.

"Relax, gorgeous. I just wanted a chance to chat. Your stopping by Marcia's earlier has gotten her all worked up. She no longer wants to work with me. She wants to work with my partner. She was rather specific. She mentioned the 'tall one'. I assume that would be you, Book." Bela said.

"_Car_, Book. Make her give me back my car..." Dean warned lowly.

"Honestly. It's just a car." Bela waved negligently toward an ally running beside the library. "I just moved it so I could have a moment of your time. It's perfectly safe and sound."

"Can I shoot her?" Dean only half-whispered to Book.

"Not in public." Book replied, only half-seriously. "Bela. What are you doing here, really?"

"Always the dull boy, aren't you, Book? With your libraries and your research. Tell me, where are you squatting right now? Abandoned factory? Haunted house? Or are you playing student this week?" He voice was derisive, and Dean didn't miss how tense the younger man was around her.

"Shut up, already, and answer his damn question." Dean growled, not caring for how she spoke to the younger man.

She arched a brow. "Do you want me to shut up? Or answer your question? You're rather protective, aren't you? Dean, right? Dean Winchester?"

"What. Do. You. Want." Book ground out, startling Dean with the intensity of his voice. He looked over at the kid.

Book was pale, and his brow was furrowed as is he was in some pain.

"You know what, lady? Screw you and your games. We're out of here." Dean said, grabbing Book by the shoulder.

"Look." Bela said, teasing voice gone now, all business. "Just stay out of my way."

"Why the hell should we do anything for you?" Dean asked with a sneer, as he toyed with the idea of shooting her just for the hell of it. She'd messed with his car, and now she was upsetting his psychic.

"Because I'll make your life wretchedly uncomfortable until you do." She replied archly.

"I'll remember that, sweetheart." Dean said with narrowed eyes. "Come on, Book. Let's grab some grub."

Dean pushed Book ahead of him protectively, glaring over his shoulder at the woman still standing on the sidewalk.

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural**

_Dean eased up the window of the darkened apartment. He paused, listening for any sounds or signs of movement._

_When nothing reached his ears but silence, he slip in. He didn't bother with a flashlight, relying on the bright autumn moonlight to light his way._

_He glanced at the photos of the smiling couple on the wall._

_The attack came suddenly, when he was in the kitchen. A flurry of kicks and blows, too fast for speech, too fast for thought. _

_No time for anything but instinct, and Dean felt a smile break across his face._

_He had missed this._

"_Whoa, Easy there, tiger."_

"_Dean?"_

_The other man's face is nothing but a blur, a dark shape lost among the other shadows, but Dean knows him none the less._

_Knows the cadence of his voice, the way he shapes his words._

_When he moves suddenly, reversing their positions, Dean is both surprised and proud._

_The lights flicker on, there is a girl, confused and a little frightened, standing in the doorway._

_She calls out to the other man, and he goes to comfort her. Dean feels the loss of his presence keenly, as he faces the two of them, now watching him warily from across the room. Before, the darkness obscured the other man's face, but now, it is just the opposite. The lights are too bright, like looking into the sun, and Dean cannot see their features._

_But it doesn't matter. He knows this person, trusts him._

_He has sought out his brother, because no one else can help him now._

"_Dad's on a hunting trip, and he hasn't been home in a few days..."_

Dean sat straight up in bed, heart pounding. He was covered in sweat, the sheets tangled about his legs, the pillows knocked to the ground.

"What the hell was that?" He whispered to the empty room.

He looked around, breathing deeply to try and calm himself. A glance at the clock told him it was a little after three. He and Book had gotten rooms just a few hours before.

He closed his eyes, trying to wade through the sleep drenched confusion in his mind.

What the hell kinda dream was that?

Already, it was starting to fade, nothing left but bits and pieces, voices.

He'd been looking for someone. Two someones, but one of them, he had found.

Dean flopped back on the mattress, wiping a hand across his face.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Okay, let me just say something to start off-**

**samulet-samulet-samulet-thank you Jesus, Dean has a copy of the samulet hanging in the Impala, RIGHT NOW!**

**Okay. Sorry. But if you didn't jump up and down, silently, breathlessly fangirling when he hung the faux Samulet from the Impala's rear view mirror, you need to go back to S1E1, because you are watching the damn show wrong. **

**Also, nothing he said disproves my own personal head canon regarding the Samulet (Quite the opposite, in fact) which you can read, if you haven't. The story is complete and can be found on my profile, titled "The Samulet Confessions" and I will be forever grateful to the writers for the moment when Marie told Dean not to be a jerk and just take the damn thing.**

**You go, Marie. Fan girls everywhere are thanking you!**

**Okay, okay.**

**Really, I'm okay.**

**So, next chapter of Tuesday's Child. A reviewer suggested I get Bobby on the phone, and this is how it played out. Don't worry, there will be plenty of Book/Bobby feels later on, but right now, Bobby only knows Dean, and he's naturally protective. **

**So much angst and feels to come, hehehehehe!**

**Anyway, Reviews are love, they have sort of slowed down on this project, which is worrisome. Are we still liking the story?**

**As Always, **

**EverReader**

**Disclaimer: No my sandbox.**

**Tuesday's Child- Chapter Fourteen**

"**Worth The Risk"**

"_John sold the house, packed Dean up in the Impala, and headed north. _

_He couldn't stand to stay there, haunted by all the memories._

_All the pain._

_Missouri had told him of a man by the name of Singer, Robert Singer, who lived in North Dakota, of all places. The man was supposed to be a hunter, and a damn good one, the kind John needed._

_Not just a shoot-first-questions-later kind of hunter, but a knowledgeable one, someone who understood research and the value of information._

_Missouri had made it clear to John that this battle would not be won with luck, or even just skill. John needed to plan a campaign, needed to gather intel, and grow his own skill._

_Bobby Singer was apparently the man to go to, if you wanted to learn hunting from the ground up._

_As badly as John wanted it over, wanted his child back, wanted his revenge, he knew he needed to lay his foundation carefully, because when the time came, he'd only get one shot, and he couldn't afford to waste it."_

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural**

Dean studied his face wearily in the mirror, taking note of the shadows under his eyes, the day-old stubble he was a little too tired to care about at the moment.

He'd slept poorly, haunted by half-remembered dreams that frankly, didn't make a lick of sense.

He knew he'd been searching for someone, his father perhaps. That would make sense, he supposed, since he still had no idea where John Winchester actually was.

But there was something else...

Someone else?

A shape in the shadows, familiar and comforting...

A knock at his motel room door had him startling out of his reverie, and he shook his head, shaking loose the last remnants of his restless night.

He opened the door to a grim looking Book.

"What's wrong?" He asked immediately, alarmed the upset look on the younger man's face. He looked around instinctively, ensuring there was no adversary looking in the half-full parking lot.

Wordlessly, Book held a newspaper out to Dean, and he took it as he ushered Book inside. "Grab some coffee." He urged, jerking his head towards the room's little coffee pot, and after a moment, Book started making himself a cup as Dean settled in to read the front page.

Soon, his own lips had compressed in a thin line of dissatisfaction, and he huffed, leaning back unhappily as he tossed the newspaper down. He met Book's unhappy eyes.

Another victim, late last night. Again, drowned in the bathroom, though this time, the tub and not the shower.

A tub apparently filled with salt water, and the press had already taken to calling the deaths the work of the 'salt water specter'. They'd even interviewed Marcia, the old lady from yesterday, who'd taken such a shine to Book, and Marcia hadn't hesitated to share her own personal speculations.

Book was restless, pacing around the room anxiously, and Dean guessed he must be feeling as guilty as Dean always did when another victim popped up after Dean had started in on a case.

Normally, Dean would be right there with him, with the added bonus of a healthy dose of cursing and maybe some broken furniture.

Dean hated to lose, hated having a body count come into play after he had made the scene, because dammit, he was there to put an end to that shit.

And every new body was just another person he had failed.

But watching the guilt and self-recrimination on Book's face was enough to cool Dean's own anger, because damned if the kid didn't look just as miserable as Dean was feeling, and they didn't both need to feel that way.

"We didn't know, Book. Hell, how could we? You said it yourself, there's over a hundred and fifty shipwrecks to research. You weren't going to find anything in one day." Dean's voice surprised himself, the gentle cadence unfamiliar.

Something (yeah, try everything) about this kid managed to tug on Dean's heartstrings, however.

Book sighed, the sound so sad it sent an arrow piercing through Dean, and he stood gracefully, walking over to the kid.

Book looked at him, shrugging, a half-grimace on his face. "I'm a psychic, Dean. What's the point of me if I can't help people like that man?"

"No way, Book. You can't think of it like that. That man was already as good as dead, if you hadn't shown up, he would have died anyway. You can't count the losses, you have to count the wins." Dean said, putting as much sincerity into his voice as he could.

Book arched a brow at him, shrewdly. "So, that's how you do it, huh? You weren't sitting there, beating the hell out of yourself?"

Dean flushed, caught out by Book's good guess. "Well, it's different. I'm a full time hunter, a professional. You said it yourself, you only show up when you don't think anyone else is going to. You're trying to help the people no one else would. That's different."

Book just shook his head. "I don't think so. So, what do you want to do?"

Dean chewed his lip. "Well, breakfast, obviously." He said, startling a laugh out of Book. "Then we'd better head over to the newest crime scene. Shit, that mean's I'd better shower. I'm going to have to rent a damn suit..."

Book started towards the door. "I can head over, try and get the lay of the land."

"Whoa, whoa. Hold your horses. You ate already?" Dean said, grabbing the kid's shoulders.

"Huh? Oh, I'll grab a power bar or something." Book shrugged easily.

Dean just stared at the kid in disbelief. "Dude, that doesn't even count as food. Just wait here, I'll only be a minute. If you're going to be doing your 'psychic thing', you gotta eat right. You're the one who told me that."

Book wavered for a moment, before nodding reluctantly. "Yeah, sure. Okay. Lemme just grab my laptop from my room."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Ten minutes." He promised, meeting the kid's eyes. "Just give me ten."

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural**

Book scrolled down the website, chewing his lip nearly bloody.

Despite what Dean said, Book knew this latest death could be laid squarely on his door step, because unlike Dean, Book knew they had done all this before.

Book just couldn't _remember_, and every death from this point forward was his own damn fault.

He looked over, startled, as Dean's phone started ringing. The caller id portion in the front read 'Bobby'.

Immediately, Book felt his breath catch, his stomach tensing into knots.

Bobby was calling, and he reached out, fingers literally _itching _to answer it, to hear that familiar voice, the rough-hewn country twang that hid an incredibly intelligent mind.

His hand paused, hovering over the phone, knowing that no matter how much he wanted to, he _couldn't_ answer it.

He closed his fist, hand dropping to the table as the phone finally stopped ringing, and he swallowed, forcing past the tightness in his throat.

He shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't be he, _couldn't be here._

This was dangerous, more than dangerous, it was stupidly, incredibly _deadly._

He was going to ruin everything, just like last time.

He stood, panic and indecision warring within him. His innate urge to flee, far and fast until the memory of everything that had never happened could no longer catch up to him battling his guilty conscious at the thought of abandoning a case that Book had already helped solve once, and should be able to solve again.

The phone started ringing again, an insistent shrill that drilled straight into his mind, into his heart.

"Book?" Dean's voice was muffled through the bathroom door. "Is that my phone, man?"

"Y-yeah!" Book stuttered over the word, voice still tight, but thankfully, Dean couldn't hear that through the closed door.

"Answer it for me, will ya? It's probably Bobby, checking up on me?"

_Shit-shit-shit-_

Book closed his eyes, marshaling his composure.

Quickly, no longer allowing himself to hesitate, he snapped open the phone. "Dean's phone." He said, knowing that it was wrong, to identify Dean, even to another hunter like Bobby, but he couldn't bring himself to say 'hello', the way he remembered doing in his other life.

He needed something to stop the overwhelming feeling of sameness that was swamping over him with that one, simple answer.

"Who the hell is this?" Bobby's gruff voice came over the line, and Book couldn't stop the mental picture that was forming automatically.

"Um, Dean's in the bathroom, hold on, I'll see if he's done..." Book trailed off uneasily.

"Who is THIS!" Bobby's voice was demanding this time, and Book looked longingly at the closed bathroom door.

Taking a deep breath, he replied as evenly as he could. "This is Book. I'm a..." He trailed off, uncertain how to describe his relationship with Dean.

"Yeah, I know who you are. _Where's Dean_?" The question was harsh, suspicious, and while Book didn't blame Bobby for being protective of Dean, it hurt anyway.

"Um, he's, he's right here. Hold on." Holding the phone against his chest, he banged on the door, louder than he intended.

Dean jerked the door open, one half of his face still covered in shaving cream.

"Everything okay?" He asked instantly, brows coming together in worried confusion when Book shoved the phone into his hand and bolted, not even bothering to scoop up his laptop.

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural **

"Yeah!" Dean said gruffly into the phone, trying to figure out once again what the hell had spooked the kid.

"Dean, how nice of you to answer yer damn phone. There something you forgot to tell me?" Bobby growled the words sarcastically.

"Bobby, man, what the hell did you say to Book? He just took off like a cat with a dog on it's tail!" Dean said, hurriedly trying to shave the second half of his face while juggling his cell phone in the other hand.

'What did I-" Bobby sputtered indignantly. "How about you telling me what the hell that guy's doing there, Dean. Is he following you, ya idjit?"

Dean frowned in the mirror, knowing intellectually that Bobby was correctly, yet also knowing instinctively that he was wrong.

"That _guy_, Bobby, is just a kid. He's freaking twenty-two, man. And no, he's not following me. Hell, when he saw me, he looked like he was going to piss himself. I think _he_ thinks I'm following him." Dean muttered, wiping off the last of the shaving cream.

"So, what the hell is he doing there, then?" Bobby demanded, and Dean rolled his eyes. "Working the case, same as me."

"Dean, no way the two of you just meet up again, out of the blue. Who the hell is this kid? Dean, you've been hunting long enough to know something about this isn't right." Bobby insisted adamantly.

Dean sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Bobby, I know, it's hinky. And I'm not sure I'm getting the whole story out of him, but, God, Bobby, if you could see him. Half the time he looks like the puppy I tried to hide under your porch that one year, and the other half he looks scared to death. And he's psychic like you wouldn't believe." Dean lowered his voice, watching the door to make sure Book didn't walk back in in the middle of his sentence. "I think something's happened to him, or someone's after him, just...something, Bobby. Every time I see him I have this stupid urge to bundle him in the Impala and drive away like a bat out of hell."

"And that don't smell fishy to you?" Bobby said, a thread of worry coursing through the sarcasm.

"Hell yes, it's fishy, Bobby. But I'm telling you...he doesn't want to hurt me. I'm a hunter, Bobby, and a good one. I have good instincts, they've saved my ass more times than I can count, and I'm telling you, he's not a bad guy." Dean said, searching for words to describe this strange, intangible thing between him and Book.

"Dean, that don't mean he's a good guy." Bobby pointed out.

Dean laughed humorlessly. "I know, Bobby. But, there's something about him. I don't know what it is, but I won't figure it out unless he sticks around." Dean sighed. "Of course, whatever you said to him had him bolting out of here so fast I'd expect him to be half-way to Canada if his laptop wasn't still here."

"I didn't say a damn thing to him." Bobby grumbled, then sighed. "I guess, I maybe...was a little...gruff." The older hunter finally admitted grudgingly.

"Well, next time, make nice, okay? Whoever he is, he's handier than hell to have around. And I meant what I said earlier. I think someone hurt him." Dean said, a low intensity sneaking into his voice.

"Well, just remember what happened to that pup you tried to hide from your Daddy. I never seen him so mad. What the hell was that dog's name, anyway."

"Sammy." Dean said lowly, his voice muffled as he continued getting dressed one handed.

"Anyway, you were right. It's definitely a case. Another vic popped up this morning, another indoor seawater drowning. Book was researching half the night last night. Apparently a ghost ship has been making the rounds at the harbor hereabouts. Problem is, Book's already located about a hundred and fifty wrecks that fit the profile. I about had to toss him over my shoulder to get him out of the library and get some food into him."

"Likes the lore, huh?" Bobby asked.

"Dude, you have no idea. I was still trying to find the right drawer on the card catalog, and he was half-way through his third book. It was like being pit crew at NASCAR." Dean said with a grin as he checked his weapons.

Bobby snorted. "Now I see the real appeal of this little bromance of yours."

Dean snorted too, it was no great secret that Dean hated the research part of the job.

"Listen, if I give you the victims names, can you see if you can find a link? That way, Book and I can concentrate on locating the ship?"

"Yeah, sure kid. Hit me with what you got."

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural **

Book looked up warily as Dean came out of his motel room, Book's laptop slung under his arm.

"Uh, hey. Sorry for bolting. Got a little claustrophobic, I guess." He said awkwardly, running his hand through his hair, not meeting Dean's eyes.

Dean shrugged easily. "It's cool, man. That was my Uncle Bobby, I told you about him back in Lily Dale, remember?"

Book choked down a frantic laugh. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, I remember. You guys get everything sorted out?"

Dean nodded as they climbed into the Impala. "Yeah, Bobby's going to look into the two victims, try and find a connection, so we can focus on the ship."

"Okay, sounds good." Book agreed, trying to slow down his frantic heartbeat. He was still unsure that staying was the right thing, but the knowledge that he had worked this case before made it impossible for him to leave.

After breakfast, they hit a suit rental place, and then headed over to the newest crime scene. Book hadn't bothered renting a suit, as he didn't have the correct fake credentials to use it anyway.

He stood in the crowd of onlookers, watching as Dean interrogated the newest victim's brother.

He felt, more than saw, Bela come up behind him. Walking slightly away from the crowd, he turned to face her. "What do you want, Bela?"

She pouted. "Oh, surely that's not how you speak to an old friend." She said. "Though, it does appear you've made a new one. I wonder, what does he think of your...family."

Book pushed down a swell of anger. Bela was a con artist and a grifter, but she was excellent at it, and she wouldn't hesitate to use Book's own emotions against him if he wasn't careful.

"What do you want, Bela?" He asked again, determined not to play her games.

She sighed. "Honestly, now I remember why Anna was always my favorite. You really are boring."

Book rolled his eyes, starting to turn away.

She reached out, snagging his arm and stopping him. "Alright, alright. Cards on the table. I may have a line on this 'ghost ship', but I need some help."

"No way in hell." The voice came from behind them, and they both glanced over to see Dean stalking over. "We're not helping you con some old lady out of her retirement fund."

Bela sneered back at him. "I wouldn't sound so high and mighty, if I were you. You're a hunter, and we both know what that means. Besides, perhaps I wasn't talking to you. Book is more than capable of helping me."

Dean stepped forward, invading her space, and Book could literally feel the tension in the air. "What the hell is that supposed to mean, you-"

"Whoa, whoa. It's okay, Dean, it's cool" Book said, stepping forward in between the two of them.

Dean eyes flashed at him in annoyance, and Book let go of his shoulder as if burned. Immediately, Dean backed down a little, though, as if realizing that he had upset Book.

Bela shook her head. "Tsk, tsk, Dean. Haven't you realized by now, Book doesn't do drama? He's a bit skittish."

Book closed his eyes, praying for patience. "Bela."

"Look, Book. You've obviously decided to help this hunter." She sneered the word hunter, and Dean's lips curled back ferally. "But what you actually care about is making sure no one else gets hurt. I can help you."

"No need." Dean said, invading her space once again. "I already know the next victim."

"You do?" Book asked in surprise, racking his mind to see if any other latent memories were emerging, but so far, nothing had.

"Yeah. The guy's brother saw the ship too. My guess is, he's got until midnight." Dean said, smirking at Bela. "So, thanks but no thanks."

She snorted delicately. "We'll see about that. Don't worry about finding me, Book. I'll find you."

"Don't bother." Dean said, subtly moving to position himself between Bela and Book, blocking Book's line of sight.

She walked away, the click of her heels on the pavement echoing as she went.

Book arched a brow at Dean. "Feel better?"

Dean flushed a little. "Uh, yeah. Sorry, she just...rubs me the wrong way. She's just looking to use you, I can tell..."

Book shrugged, knowing Dean was right. "I know."

Dean searched his eyes. "Then, why even talk to her?"

Book looked away, mumbling under his breath.

"What?" Dean asked, moving closer.

Book sighed, trying to phrase his thoughts as well as he could.. "I just...can't risk not listening. I mean, it's one thing if you got something, but if you didn't, I'd have to try something. The last time this thing came around, eleven people died before it was done."


	15. Chapter 15

**Oh, my poor, poor readers! I'm sorry if you thought I was abandoning you! Between the Holidays and the fact that I work retail, I barely know if I am coming or going.**

**So here is your Tuesday's Child update, and I am sorry it is so over due! None of my Supernatural Stories are on Hiatus, just had a lot of living to do these past few weeks.**

**Besides, with the mid-season finale coming up next week, I need all the comfort I can get. Does anyone else feel like Sam's character has become a little bit sidekick-y these past few episodes? I get that the mark is the major storyline, but...**

**I don't know. I just know my show is supposed to be about both brothers, and right now, it feels a little bit like the Dean Winchester Show. Even when Sam had the big myth arc in earlier seasons, you got to see plenty of emotional Dean scenes. And I actually liked Hannah. Granted, I like her more now that she gave Caroline her life back, but I liked her on the show also, it was a bit of a counter balance. Dean's pretty wrapped up in himself right now, so having someone pay attention to Cas was nice. I seriously feel like Crowley is more worried about Cas (And Sam, actually) than Dean is. Maybe he can't, as mixed up as he is right now, but still...**

**Okay, end of temper tantrum. Expect some dark shit to hit the fan next week. Maybe I'll be inspired to write a new chapter of "All The Truth There Is In Me".**

**As Always, **

**EverReader**

**PS- Don't freak out if you see new stories hit my feed from other categories. I'm not branching out, I'm moving stories over from my old account to my new one, so I can start to get all my messages and follows under one Pen Name. You guys will see some Who and Roswell, but don't worry, I haven't abandoned SPN.**

**Disclaimer: Still not mine, as evidenced by my Sam being a fully dimensional character, and not a very tall, long haired prop.**

**Tuesday's Child- Chapter Fifteen**

"**Water From A Stone"**

_Many of Books memories came forth while he was sleeping._

_So did many of his visions._

_The night Book had awakened Gabe by screaming the name "Anna!" over and over again had been perhaps one of the most notable._

_The child had been inconsolable, babbling on about monsters coming for Anna, and insisting that Gabe had to go get her._

_Had to save her._

_Three days later he returned with a three year old Anna in tow, shell shocked and half-crazed from watching the 'monsters' murder her parents. _

_Gabe had taken one look at her, and realized what she was._

_His instinct had been to leave her at a hospital somewhere, knowing her very presence could endanger Book and himself, but Book would have nothing to do with it._

_Looking into Book's sad, determined eyes, he'd reluctantly acquiesced, agreeing to attack to heal Anna's fragile psyche._

_He had succeeded, and failed. Anna had come back to herself, but she had come back completely, with her angel memories._

_But unlike her previous life, where she had viewed Book as a dangerous abomination, in this life, she looked up to Book as a brother and confidant, and slowly Gabe came to realize how good she was for Book._

_She helped fill in the empty space where his other family should have been._

_in time, she grew to be an odd mix of human child and wise-cracking angel, with the ability to hear the other angels, but a completely human body. She was adventurous and spunky, embracing life in it's extremes, and she helped pull Book out of his shell._

_Slowly, the trickster found his small family starting to grow._

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural**

Book shifted uncomfortably on the bench seat of the Impala. Though he had always been a rather patient person, the truth of the matter was, it was hard to fold up six inches and four feet of hunter/psychic/time traveling-misfit into any size container for long, even one as spacious as the Impala.

"You okay? Hungry?" Dean asked, looking over at him questioningly.

Book felt a reluctant smile creep across his face as Dean asked him that question for perhaps the twelfth time since they had begun their stake out.

He wondered if Dean even realized he did it, of if, on some emotional level, he too remembered the feeling of caring about each other.

Or Book was drowning in his own wishful thinking.

It probably didn't say good things about him, the way he reveled in the attention Dean tossed him without even seeming to realize it, but the truth was, he enjoyed it.

"Nah, just getting fidgety." He replied casually, purposefully keeping his face calm and easy.

"It's probably going to go down soon." Dean said, as if he were comforting an anxious child who was ready to leave.

Book half-smiled again before agreeing. "I think you're right. This whole place just feels..."

They both looked over at the house, a mansion really, but unlike Marsha's gracious home, this place was stark, all white walls and modern angles.

The wind had picked up, and the sky was so clear it looked like you could reach out and cut your finger on one the stars shining in the dark.

"Haunted?" Dean suggested jokingly.

Book snorted. "Well, yeah. I think the spirit is building up to materializing. But what's the play? You said Marcus gave you a pretty hard brush off earlier. You really think he's just going to let us in his house at midnight?"

Dean shook his head. "I'm guessing he's going to be pretty caught up in the process of drown." He held up his lock pick set. "I figured we'd just...let ourselves in. Oh, hey, that reminds me..." He reached down under the seat, feeling around for something.

"You don't carry." Dean stated it, rather than asking, and Book didn't bother to deny.

"No, it doesn't really work with the wandering life style. Cops stop hitch hikers, people on buses get nervous. Concealed guns are a crime in some states, and I can't hind my gear in a car like you can, so I carry my knife." Book said.

Dean sat back up, a compact revolver in his hand. "Yeah, that's what I figured. It's cool, this one's loaded and ready to go."

Sam stared at the gun, swallowing hard.

He'd never fired a gun.

Not in this life, anyway.

He's insisted on learning hand to hand combat, several types of martial arts, even knife-fighting skills. He could forge papers, pick locks, jump a car.

Hell, in a pinch, he was pretty sure he could still remember how to make ammo.

So many things he'd remembered, but everything that mattered he'd made Gabe teach him again, or find him teachers.

Everything but marksmanship.

He knew he'd been a crack shot in his other life. He had clear memories of being taught to shoot pretty much every damn type of gun in the world in his other life.

But in this life, he'd never been able to bring himself to handle a gun. Every time he'd tried, he'd been assaulted by a jumbled flash of other-life memories.

_Shooting ghosts_...so many memories, too many to count.

_Shooting a pretty, dark haired woman point blank in her kitchen_...that one had been bad. That one had been so bad that Gabe had threatened to take it away again, until Book got the nightmares under control again.

_Holding a gun on the man Book knew was none other than John Winchester, knew was his own father..._and yet, at the same time, he hadn't been, and Book hoped to God that he had been possessed.

Otherwise, he had been ready to shoot his own father.

"_Give me my gun and leave..."_

Fear, alarm, desperation, and a grim, dark satisfaction...

Those were the emotions he equated with firearms, and as he looked back up at Dean's face, he shook his head, hard, chest tightening with anxiety.

"No thanks." His voice was a rough shadow of itself, but Book didn't care.

He wasn't taking that damn gun.

Dean frowned, brows lowering in annoyance and concern. "Look, man. I'm not asking. I should have made you arm up in Lily Dale, but honestly, I just didn't know you well enough. But it was a bad call, you could have gotten hurt. A knife isn't always enough. I get that you can't keep a gun on you when you're traveling, but if you're helping me on a hunt, I need to know you can defend yourself."

Book swallowed again. "I think we both know I can defend myself, Dean. But no guns. Not for me." He got out of the car, slamming the door behind him without meaning too, then wincing at the echo in the still night.

Dean followed suit, slamming his own door on purpose. "Get back in the damn car, Book. A freaking ghost is about to pop up, and you won't even arm yourself."

Book wheeled around, glaring at Dean. "Newsflash, Dean. I don't need a gun to be dangerous. And I don't want to be more dangerous than I already am!"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean-" Dean was cut off by the lights on the porch coming on.

Marcus Travers had come out, and was standing on his porch staring at them with a mixture of anger and fear.

"What are you doing? Who the hell are you guys? You're no cop!" He said to Dean accusingly. "Not in an old car like that!"

"Hey!" Dean yelled back indignantly.

Book felt the temperature begin to drop, and he realized they were about to run out of time. "Mr. Travers, please, we are cops, we're just undercover. We think you may be in danger-"

"Just stay the hell away from me!" Marcus yelled, bolting for his car. Dean and Book were brought up short by the fence blocking the road from the Travers' property.

"Dean, it's happening!" Book said, feeling all the hair on his arms begin to stand at attention.

"Now?" Dean asked, looking around.

"Get the salt gun!" Book replied, vaulting over the fence and starting to spring towards where Marcus's car had seemed to stall, only a few feet from the end of the drive.

Behind him, he heard Dean curse and then spring back to the Impala. He raced onward, pushing himself as he sprinted towards the car.

As he ran up to the driver's side door, he saw that he was already too late. Marcus's body was jerking and twitching as he spewed forth a fountain of water. Book knew the man was already as good as dead, and he focused instead on the spirit sitting beside the man, in the passenger seat.

He was wet-dripping wet, which made sense if they were thinking ship-wreck. He had long, dark hair.

And he was missing his right hand.

Suddenly the ghost vanished, and Book spun around on instinct, guessing the spirit's intention even as the ghost materialized next to him.

"What do you want!" Book said, as he locked eyes with the spirit. In the man's gaze, he could see a mixture of hate and bitterness, and a keen, clever fury.

"Brothers..." The man muttered, and Book's own eyes widened in trepidation.

Was he referring to The Travers' brothers?

Or Book and Dean?

"Book! Down!" Book heard Dean call out authoritatively, and he dropped gracefully without the slightest hesitation.

A shot-gun blast echoed overhead, close and clarion clear, and Book felt granules of salt rain down on him as the spirit dematerialized.

"BOOK!" Dean's voice was muffled by the ringing in Books ears caused by the too close shotgun blast.

"Are you okay?" Book could see Dean's lips shaping the words, but he himself felt nothing but regret and a keen disappointment in himself.

Dean was patting Book down almost frantically, and it was too much for Book in that moment-

The dead man, drowned in his own car, Dean, invading every aspect of Book's personal space in his worry and concern, and that damn ghost, words echoing in his mind as he whispered- "Brothers."

"I'm fine!" Book said, jerking away without meaning to.

Dean paused, going stock still as his eyes met Book's. Though they were no longer touching, Book felt Dean's eyes on him, still evaluating, still searching for injury.

"We screwed up." Book said, gesturing toward the dead man.

Dean's jaw tightened as he looked in the car. "He's dead, then?"

"Yeah." Book said, turning away, unable to face his failure anymore.

"Book..." Dean said, and Book could feel him stepping closer. "You know, you can't-"

"Save everyone? Trust me, Dean. I know." Book said, putting more distance between him and Dean.

"No one knows the way I do." He muttered to himself.

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural **

Dean slammed his motel room door closed behind him, cursing as he jerked off his leather jacket.

The whole night had gone to Hell in a hand basket, starting with his argument over Book carrying a gun and ending with Marcus Travers dying.

With a side order of angry spirit getting a little too close and personal to his psychic, and then said psychic had practically _ran_ away to put some distance between himself and Dean.

Dean had been too far away to hear whatever the freaking ghost had said to Book, but whatever it was had made the kid go sheet white, and Dean had fired almost on instinct, deciding that the meet and greet was over.

Marcus Travers' death was hitting Dean hard, but not as hard as it appeared to hit Book. The look on the kid's face had had Dean's stomach tying in knots.

It was a familiar look, and it had reminded Dean of his father for one wild moment.

Book had stormed off, saying he needed some space to clear his mind, and Dean had had to resist the urge to hit him over the head, dump his ass in the Impala, and drive him back to the safety of the motel.

He knew he needed to respect Book's space, and vice-versa, if they were going to work the case together...

But every time that stupid kid walked away from Dean, he had to fight down a screaming sense of...of panic.

Like something bad was going to happen if he didn't keep him in sight.

His phone rang, and he answered without thought. "Book?"

"Oh dear, are the lovebirds fighting already?" The dulcet tones carried an unfortunately British accent, and Dean scowled at the phone.

"Bela, what the fuck do you want?" Dean growled.

"Such language. How do you manage to get along with Book, I wonder. The boy's practically a boy scout." Bela's voice grated on Dean's last nerve, and his grip on the phone tightened.

"Bela..."

"Relax. I called with good news. I found the ship, and all I need is you and Book to help me clear up this little mess, and I can get paid." She said, the joking tone now absent from her voice.

"Not helping you." Dean ground out.

"Well, I'm guessing from your pissy attitude that Marcus Travers is dead. That makes, what? Three losses and zero wins. Bang up job. But I didn't expect you to be resonable. I only called you because Book wasn't answering his line. Where is he?" Bela commanded.

Dean scowled. "Leave him the hell alone, Bela."

There was a pause on the other end before Bela said accusingly, "You don't know where he is, do you?. Honestly, Dean. I leave him with you for what, twelve hours and you've already misplaced him? Do you know how hard it can be to find him if he doesn't want to be found?"

"Then don't try!" Dean snarled.

"Well, one of us better." She snapped. "You haven't seen a guilt complex in action until you've met Book. And three victims is going to be hitting him hard."

"What are you saying?" Dean asked, concern coiling in his stomach.

There was a pause, and then Bela, a strange, new tone in her voice said-"Just find him, Dean. He might listen to you."

"How do you two know each other?" Dean said suspiciously.

"The lost always find one another." She replied cryptically, hanging up abruptly.

Dean stared down at his phone in consternation, trying to think of where Book would go to "think".

And just what was Bela worried about?

Dean thought back to Lily Dale, remembering how pale and sick Book had looked as he'd tried to track down Melinda Dale's bones.

"Shit." He muttered, pulling his jacket back on hurriedly.

He knew he shouldn't have let the kid out of his sight.


End file.
